that's what friends do (long but worth reading)

 Jack tossed the papers on my desk -- his eyebrows knit into a
 straight line as he glared at me. "What's wrong?" I asked.

 He jabbed a finger at the proposal. "Next time you want to change
 anything, ask me first," he said, turning on his heels and leaving me
 stewing in anger. How dare he treat me like that, I thought. I had
 changed one long sentence, and corrected grammar -- something I
 thought I was paid to do.

 It's not that I hadn't been warned. The other women, who had served
 in my place before me, called him names I couldn't repeat. One co-
 worker took me aside the first day. "He's personally responsible for
 two different secretaries leaving the firm," she whispered.

 As the weeks went by, I grew to despise Jack. It was against
 everything I believed in -- turn the other cheek and love your
 enemies. But Jack quickly slapped a verbal insult on any cheek turned
 his way. I prayed about it, but to be honest, I wanted to put him in
 his place, not love him.

 One day, another of his episodes left me in tears. I stormed into his
 office, prepared to lose my job if needed, but not before I let the
 man know how I felt. I opened the door and Jack glanced up.

 "What?" he said abruptly.

 Suddenly I knew what I had to do. After all, he deserved it. I sat
 across from him. "Jack, the way you've been treating me is wrong.
 I've never had anyone speak to me that way. As a professional, it's
 wrong, and it's wrong for me to allow it to continue," I said.

 Jack snickered nervously and leaned back in his chair. I closed my
 eyes briefly. God help me, I prayed. "I want to make you a promise. I
 will be a friend," I said. "I will treat you as you deserve to be
 treated, with respect and kindness. You deserve that," I
 said. "Everybody does." I slipped out of the chair and closed the
 door behind me.

 Jack avoided me the rest of the week. Proposals, specs, and letters
 appeared on my desk while I was at lunch, and the corrected versions
 were not seen again. I brought cookies to the office one day and left
 a batch on Jack's desk. Another day I left a note. "Hope your day is
 going great," it read.

 Over the next few weeks, Jack reappeared. He was reserved, but there
 were no other episodes. Co-workers cornered me in the break room.

 "Guess you got to Jack," they said. "You must have told him off
 good."

 I shook my head. "Jack and I are becoming friends," I said in faith.

 I refused to talk about him. Every time I saw Jack in the hall, I
 smiled at him. After all, that's what friends do.

 One year after our "talk," I discovered I had breast cancer. I was
 32, the mother of three beautiful young children, and scared. The
 cancer had metastasized to my lymph nodes and the statistics were not
 great for long-term survival. After surgery, I visited with friends
 and loved ones who tried to find the right words to say. No one knew
 what to say. Many said the wrong things . Others wept, and I tried to
 encourage them. I clung to hope.

 The last day of my hospital stay, the door darkened and Jack stood
 awkwardly on the threshold. I waved him in with a smile and he walked
 over to my bed and, without a word, placed a bundle beside me. Inside
 lay several bulbs. "Tulips," he said.

 I smiled, not understanding.

 He cleared his throat. "If you plant them when you get home, they'll
 come up next Spring." He shuffled his feet. "I just wanted you to
 know that I think you'll be there to see them when they come up."

 Tears clouded my eyes and I reached out my hand. "Thank you," I
 whispered.

 Jack grasped my hand and gruffly replied, "You're welcome. You can't
 see it now, but next Spring you'll see the colors I picked out for
 you." He turned and left without a word.

 I have seen those red and white striped tulips push through the soil
 every Spring for over ten years now. In fact, this September the
 doctor will declare me cured. I've seen my children graduate from
 high school and enter college. In a moment when I prayed for just the
 right word, a man with very few words said all the right things.
 After all, that's what friends do.