Some losses change us in ways we don’t always recognize. And Just Like That began with Big’s death, exploring how Carrie Bradshaw would heal after losing the love of her life. But perhaps the show overlooked another, equally profound heartbreak—the absence of Samantha. For me, the loss that lingers isn’t the husband whose ashes she scattered over the Seine, but the best friend who’s no longer by her side.

One of the quietly revolutionary aspects of Sex and the City was its portrayal of friendship as its own kind of love story. The show always prioritized the four women over the men. We’re conditioned to chase the highs and lows of romance, but maybe the relationships that truly shape us unfold more quietly—not in grand gestures, but in the steady comfort of friendship.

Last year, I lost someone who wasn’t a romantic partner but who profoundly influenced my life. Katie was my first great love. I met her at the start of secondary school and was instantly in awe—she was brilliant, mischievous, and effortlessly funny, while I was awkward and unsure of myself. Yet she made me feel interesting, worthy of her friendship. That friendship lasted three decades.

At 18, we backpacked through Italy together in the pre-smartphone era—no Google Maps, no Netflix. Our entertainment was a terrible book we’d stolen from a pub and a single mixtape. For six months, we lived in each other’s pockets, listening to Barry White, Jurassic 5, and The Smiths on repeat. Looking back, it’s a miracle we never argued. We were young, but we understood each other’s needs and boundaries in a way only true friends can. It was our coming-of-age adventure, our Goonies moment.

When we went to different universities, my phone bill skyrocketed to over £100 a month. Even after meeting my now-husband—a man I love deeply—I struggled with the separation. Katie’s emotional presence carried me through those years. Later, when I moved to Dubai, time zones and busy schedules meant we spoke less, but the distance was only ever physical. Like Samantha’s occasional texts to Carrie in AJLT, a message or voicenote from Katie could calm me like nothing else. Often, it felt like she was the only one who truly understood me.

After 13 years abroad, my husband and I returned to Europe, settling in Amsterdam during the pandemic. It wasn’t the easiest time to start over, but it brought me closer to my family—and to Katie. Then, everything fell apart. My dad passed away. Soon after, Katie was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Doctors gave her two years, and they were right. We celebrated her last birthdays together. After a major surgery, I stayed with her for a week to help her recover. In her final month, I sat by her hospice bed, holding her hand as she made me laugh, gave me advice, and put everyone else first. She was still herself, right until the end.

Katie died just before Christmas. We knew it was coming, but nothing prepares you for that pain. What struck me wasn’t just the grief, but how invisible it felt. I still downplay how much it hurts. Society has language for mourning a partner or parent, but friendship is often treated as an emotional footnote. Many workplaces don’t offer bereavement leave for the loss of a friend, as if that grief matters less. I know now, painfully, that it doesn’t.

We might brace ourselves for losing a parent one day, but we imagine our friends will always be there. Losing Katie taught me that friendship can be as defining as any romance—and its absence leaves a void just as deep.She’ll always be part of our lives. One of the last things Katie told me was, “I’m sorry I won’t be there when you need me.” Those words still haunt me.

In the world of And Just Like That, Samantha Jones is alive but almost completely absent from Carrie’s life. For a show that celebrates deep, lasting female friendships, it feels strange—and like a missed opportunity—to gloss over Carrie losing such an important friend.

My dear friend Katie showed me how precious friendships are—that they deserve the same care and importance we often give only to romantic love. She shaped who I am, and learning to live without her has changed how I see love. The people who stand by us through life matter most, and I’ve come to understand that a friend can mean just as much as anyone.