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On the Fault Lines of Loyalty: What Drives Us to Choose Sides in Friendship Rifts

Have you ever run into someone you knew through a friend you no longer speak to?

Someone you've only shared lighthearted, fun times with—until the day you see them on the street, and instead of returning your smile, they pass with a grazing chin nod, their usual warmth replaced by the psychologically coercive silent treatment?

We don't know what to make of this sudden cold shoulder.

Could this person, with whom you've long considered quite excellent, be angry because they've heard—and believed—one side of a two-sided story? Or is this upset-by-proxy their signal of loyalty to your once-mutual friend?

This happened recently to someone I love. She and I talked it through and gave me the A-OK to share her story here.

Friendships are complex living arrangements.

Each relationship is unique, shaped by individual histories, quirks, and unconscious forces. Person A might treat Person B with warmth and loyalty while showing Person C only contempt—yet Person A and Person B remain inseparable.

But what happens when Person A demands Person B cut off Person C, driven by murky, inarticulable reasons? And what do we make of Person B if they comply, ending a connection with someone they have no personal issue with?

We'll call my friend Nan.

She has an ex-friend, Lola (not her real name). While I know Lola, I'm not her friend or ex-friend. Based on what Nan has shared, Lola sounds unwell. But I know these stories have passed through the intricate filter of Nan's lived experience, emotional struggles, and the ineffable friction and frisson between two people.

Hearing Nan's side doesn't make me dislike Lola. They're just stories about Nan's pain and her sense of betrayal. I also know that if Lola told me her version of the friendship's unraveling, her account would be equally colored by her history, unresolved pain, and version of the truth.

Nan ended her friendship with Lola after one final, intolerable breach of trust. They last spoke a few years ago.

Meanwhile, Nan has a neighborhood acquaintance—Gwen—whom she's known casually for a long time. They've never hung out, but they have entire conversations on the street when they run into each other. They know each other's partners and their kids. They share a neighborhood they've lived in for decades. I'll mention here that all parties are between 45 and 60.

Gwen is a massive fan of Nan's art. She comes to all her shows, raves about her work, and fangirls about Nan to others in front of her. Nan feels genuinely supported by Gwen.

One day, Gwen mentions joining a dinner club. It's been four months, and they've tried four stand-out restaurants in 4 boroughs.

She gushes about the group members, mentioning one by her full name—Lola.

Nan's face must have revealed something because Gwen asked, "Do you know her?"

"Yes," Nan said carefully. "We used to be friends but aren't anymore."

She swears she kept her tone neutral and said nothing negative. She can't know what her expression revealed, but her words were measured. She left it at that.

A few weeks later, Nan sees Gwen walking with her daughter. Nan smiles warmly and slows down, but Gwen surprises her—she doesn't smile or slow down. She hurried her daughter along as if she didn't see her.

What the hell?

Days later, Nan sends out an email announcing her upcoming show. Shortly after, she gets a notification: someone unsubscribed from her mailing list—Gwen.

Now, Nan is hurt and confused. She promises herself that the next time she sees Gwen, she'll ask what's happening. Did Nan inadvertently hurt Gwen's feelings? Or, could this be about Lola, whom Gwen has known for only four months, while she's known Nan for a decade?

But when they cross paths again, Gwen quickly looks away, pulls out her phone, and presses it against her ear.

She flat-out ignores Nan.

Nan is wrecked.

So Nan decided to call her. Then write her. Then, we had a conversation. To read it all, you must upgrade.

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