The moment you clicked, it was like flicking a switch. All that distance we’d stacked between us dissolved, and suddenly, there we were—trading quips and half-truths, stumbling over nostalgia and all the memories we still carry.

As always, you shrugged off my praise, calling yourself “just a simple Country Girl in the big city.” But I can’t help wanting to edit that line—because I’ve seen you in action, and you’re anything but simple. You’re a powerhouse disguised by an unassuming smile, someone who draws strength from challenges most people would run from. I’ve always loved that about you. Maybe that’s why I can’t resist spinning your words into something that does your energy justice.

You’ve always known my secrets—where every metaphorical body is buried, where all the soda cans of half-truths are hidden. Maybe that’s why, without thinking twice, I blurted out: “Hell nah, you’re gonna be the girl who options the Netflix doc when I die.” If anyone is going to tell my story—skeletons and all—it has to be you. You’ve been quietly documenting my life from the start, catching details I miss and understanding the unspoken truths better than anyone else.

It takes me back to those days when I was proud to call myself your subordinate, trying my hardest just to earn that tiny spark of approval in your voice. And even though we’ve both come so far from those walls we once worked within, the essence remains the same: I want you to see me, to see this, and to know it’s all for you.

We’ve grown in ways neither of us could have predicted, yet we keep gravitating back to each other’s orbits. Maybe it’s fate, or maybe our stories have been woven together from the beginning. Either way, I’m grateful. Even if we never roll the credits on that Netflix doc, I’ll keep writing—because you’re the reason I dare to put words on paper at all. Thank you for seeing the best and worst in me, for being the quiet guardian of my truths, and for reminding me that sometimes a “simple Country Girl” can change everything.

But let’s be real: this is no longer that call center. Now, it’s just us, hearing each other’s voices, gossiping about our bad deeds, and admitting things we never would have said out loud before—because now we’re family. We could write a Netflix doc so outrageous no one would believe it. And you know, when you finally told me what happened to you and came to me first, that night in the office, and I told you over the phone, that’s when I knew you were my friend, & more importantly big sister. You showed me something no one else ever had—a love that could withstand even Christ’s judgment or the devil’s ridicule.

That kind of unshakeable bond is rare. It’s what brings us back to each other time and time again, no matter how far we drift. I’m thankful for it all: the late-night confessions, the sarcastic jabs, the pride we take in each other’s smallest victories. I’m thankful for you—the only person who could ever document my life in a way that does it justice. Because you get it. You get me.

Here’s to everything we’ve shared, the future we’re still shaping, and the sweet thrill of every moment in between. If anyone ever does roll credits on our story, I hope they know the truth: we’re more than just friends. We’re each other’s keepers, each other’s quiet heroes, and in the end, we always will be.