Guys have ‘bros before hoes.’ Girls have ‘loyalty with them above all others.’ Or at least we did; the Cinco Amigas did. As five is an odd number, we were an odd bunch who found our common denominator in the gym. For a very long time, workouts were our glue, and then organically, we added more. First, it was lunch, brunch, then brunch with mimosas, and finally, sleepovers with each other’s kids calling the other auntie. It was perfect; we were perfect.

It is why this is so tough to write. I apologized to them three times. The last time, I heard nothing, only crickets. But I must start at the beginning where every story usually begins. Because deep inside, I’m hoping through writing and examination, I may be able to find what went wrong, what I wronged.

The Cuatro Chicas came into my life when I was single, fiercely single, and unapologetically dating. They were there to cheer me on, and spy on my first dates. Lift me after the failed ones, and listen to my stories over a glass of wine. They were married, and one was going through a divorce and name change. But I never felt like the odd one out even when their hubbies were around because I felt like I was with family.

I was 120 lbs, when I was part of the Cinco Amigas. We were beasts, continually running on endorphins — push-ups, HIIT, and silly little ‘fun runs’ that were not so fun, but being with them made it fun.

We also ran on gossip, but who doesn’t? We would talk and laugh about others, especially ex-boyfriends, former friends, and sometimes coworkers. The messier their lives, the funnier it was. Over mimosas during brunch was even better. What she’s wearing? Who she’s seeing? Does she know what he does? Were questions we could muse on for hours. Often loudly and obnoxiously. But it was fun, so much fun. The stares from the patrons in our favorite brunch restaurant wouldn’t bother me. If they didn’t like it, they could leave. Our kids were the ones sometimes running the aisles, sometimes with their heads stuck in a game, or sometimes talking just as loudly themselves. Gosh, it was so much fun.

When my husband came into the picture, he was an enormous question mark for me, not so much them. The Cuatro Chicas didn’t pay much attention to him. When my relationship with my then-boyfriend hit a low point, they all came over my house each with a bottle of their favorite wine, to hear me whine and drink. But I think I told them too much. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything at all.

When you date a man with children, no one tells you, you will not instantaneously love their children as you love the man. That was my problem at the time. The obstacle that seemed so hard to climb. They were my sisters, and I told them everything. I told them it was hard having his kids over; they were rambunctious, so unlike the one I had. You see, my child, spoiled motherhood for me; I was not ready for these two. They were hard to love and hard to get along. When I brought them over to a Cinco Amiga sleepover one day, my friends saw what I saw, and agreed with me.

During that sleepover, I heard the story of heartbreak from one who broke up with a man she was dating who had small children. She told me I didn’t listen to my mother, who told me, ‘don’t date a man with small children.’ It was a warning, I thought. I looked at my borrowed two, playing outside with the others who were just as turbulent as they were. I nodded and didn’t say much.

When I went back home and handed my then-boyfriend back his children, and the baby girl turned around and hugged me, my heart danced a bit. It wasn’t much, just a two-step. That morning, I helped her with her hair and gave her a top knot that would go well with her ballerina dress.

In the subsequent days, I focused more on work and not so much on my friends. By that time, my then-boyfriend and I had grown into a domesticated routine with regular sleepovers and designated ‘him and me’ time, and ‘us and the kids’ time. Those days were peaceful, not literally because there was nothing quiet about the kids, but because this was when we nourished our relationship and it grew, while my love for his kids grew. Although my views changed, my friends’ didn’t. When we got together again, they echoed the comments I complained to them before about the kids. But now that I knew them more, and understood their behaviors a little more, I tried to explain it to them, but even though we were like family, they couldn’t see what I saw. It was then that they looked at me with pity. For the first time, I saw pity in their eyes, when they would look at me. When I told them he proposed, they acted happily, but I knew better.

Don’t tell me how, but I knew when I wasn’t there, they were getting together without me, and talking about me. Probably the same way we laughed and talked, over mimosas and brunch, they were doing it on those other Sundays, instead of cinco, minus one. It broke my heart. Although we lived in the same town, distance between them and I lengthened and with the distance I changed.

We did one last run together, a half marathon. I could tell they were trying so hard to reign me in again, but I didn’t feel comfortable with them, not like before. The run was long, and I felt so alone. I passed them a few times and said a few words, but that was it. We got together in the sauna to stretch, but the jokes felt hollow, and I could never follow the thread of conversation. It was like I outgrew them, and I felt uncomfortable in my house.

I got married. The three kids; his two and my one held my veil as I walked down the aisle. They weren’t there, although I invited them. Perhaps they felt it too; the outgrowing of our relationship. I shouldn’t have told them so much about my budding relationship; I know that now. They were my friends, and of course, they took my side.

I’ve since moved to a different town and been married for three years. I gained twenty lovely pounds and don’t run as much. I love my husband, my borrowed children, and the biological one. There’s a picture of the Cinco Amigas smiling at the camera in our favorite restaurant on my mantle. I love them too.