I understand why you left.
Not:
I hurt you.
I need.
The grammar of Sarah’s regret still centered Sarah.
“I don’t know who else to talk to.”
Another pause.
“Please call me.”
“I really need you.”
The voicemail ended.
I deleted it.
Blocked the number.
I expected satisfaction.
What I felt was sadness.
Mark had not even needed to build a relationship with Sarah.
He only needed to represent possibility long enough for her to trade certainty for it.
That was tragic.
It was also not mine.
Four days later, Chloe emailed.
Subject:
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT SARAH.
I almost deleted it.
Instead, curiosity won.
Liam,
I know you probably hate all of us right now, but I’m genuinely worried.
Sarah is barely eating.
She cries constantly.
The Mark situation completely exploded. Apparently he was just using her to make his ex jealous, or at least that’s what it looks like now.
I know what Sarah did was bad.
But you were together for five years.
Are you really going to abandon her over one mistake?
She loves you.
She knows that now.
She learned the hard way.
You don’t have to take her back immediately.
Just talk to her.
You were her best friend before all of this.
Please don’t be cruel.
Chloe.
I read it twice.
Not because I was considering responding.
Because the phrasing fascinated me.
One mistake.
As if Sarah accidentally clicked the wrong button.
As if months of emotional intimacy with Mark had happened in one careless second.
As if telling me she wanted to explore him while preserving me as backup friendship had been a typo.
Then:
Don’t be cruel.
My absence had somehow become cruelty.
I marked the email as spam.
Friday evening, Amanda called from another number.
I answered because I was expecting a furniture delivery.
“Liam.”
I recognized her.
I almost hung up.
“Please.”
Amanda spoke quickly.
“Just sixty seconds.”
I said nothing.
“She’s really bad.”
“That isn’t something I can fix.”
“She knows.”
“Does she?”
“Come on.”
Amanda sounded frustrated.
“You two were basically family.”
“Were.”
“Do you seriously feel nothing?”
That question annoyed me.
“I feel plenty.”
“Then talk to her.”
“No.”
“Why are you punishing her?”
“I’m not.”
“You blocked everybody.”
“That’s a boundary.”
“It feels like punishment.”
“To you.”
Amanda became silent.
I continued.
“Sarah asked to leave the relationship.”
“She got to choose that.”
“I get to choose what happens to my access afterward.”
Amanda exhaled.
“She didn’t think you’d disappear completely.”
“I know.”
That was the entire problem.
Amanda’s tone softened.
“She thought you would stay friends.”
“I know.”
“She really believed that.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
I ended the call politely.
Then blocked that number too.
A week later, Sarah found my apartment.
I never learned exactly how.
Probably Chloe.
Maybe an old mutual friend.
Possibly some stupid address database online.
It was Thursday evening.
I had just finished unpacking the last box.
The buzzer rang.
I expected the food delivery.
I walked toward the intercom screen.
Sarah.
For several seconds, my body reacted before my mind.