“You still love me.”
Maybe I did.
Part of me.
But love was no longer enough information.
“I loved you.”
Her face crumpled.
“Loved?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t just turn that off.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Because caring about someone doesn’t require giving them access.”
Sarah stepped away from the camera.
Then returned.
“I’ll do anything.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything.”
“Therapy.”
“Good.”
“I’ll transfer departments.”
“Your choice.”
“I’ll block Mark.”
“Probably wise.”
“I’ll give you every password.”
“No.”
“Liam.”
“No.”
She stared at me.
“I don’t want a relationship where security comes from monitoring you.”
“I want a relationship where I don’t need to.”
Sarah pressed both hands against her face.
“I was so stupid.”
“Yes.”
That might have sounded cruel.
It was not said cruelly.
She lowered her hands.
“Can we at least be friends?”
There it was.
Again.
I almost smiled at the tragic consistency.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you keep saying friend when you mean access.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“It’s exactly fair.”
“I care about you.”
“I believe you.”
“You care about me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why can’t we be friends?”
“Because friendship with you right now would require me to sit beside the wreckage of our relationship and help you process the person you left me to explore.”
Sarah went silent.
I continued.
“That isn’t friendship.”
“That’s emotional cleanup.”
She flinched.
“I’m not asking you to fix me.”
“You came to my apartment saying you don’t know what to do.”
She looked away.
Then whispered:
“I don’t.”
“I believe you.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“That’s the part you figure out.”
Her eyes returned to the camera.
“I thought you’d fight for me.”
That sentence froze me.
“What?”
“When I told you.”
Sarah looked embarrassed.
“I thought you would…”
She struggled.
“Fight.”
“Promise we could fix it.”
“Tell me not to go.”
I stared at the screen.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sarah.”
“I wanted proof.”
“Of what?”
“That you still wanted me.”
I almost laughed.
“We were together.”
“I know.”
“I lived with you.”
“I know.”
“I cooked dinner that night.”
“I know.”
“You needed me to perform losing you before you could feel wanted?”
Tears filled her eyes again.
“When you say it like that…”
“How else should I say it?”
She had no answer.
That conversation finally explained something.
Sarah had not expected the breakup to actually end us.
Part of her had imagined the triangle itself would create intensity.
Mark wanted her.
I would fight to keep her.
Sarah would feel desired from both directions.
Instead, I stepped out.
The structure collapsed.
“I’m sorry.”
Her voice was small.
“I really am.”
“I believe you.”
Hope flashed across her face.
I ended it immediately.
“That doesn’t mean I’m coming back.”
The hope died.