"That's complicated," she said.
"I imagine it is," I replied. "But getting back together with me isn't the only possible solution."
Her tone cooled. She told me I was being harsh, that Sarah had made a mistake and did not deserve to lose everything, and that she had expected more compassion from someone she once considered family. I said that I hoped Sarah received care, but that care did not have to come from a former partner who had been hurt. I offered to send the names of two local housing programs I had found, and Carol dismissed the suggestion as though it were an insult.
"She needs someone who loves her," Carol said.
"Then I hope the people who love her help her," I answered. "I can't resume a relationship because she's in trouble."
For a moment neither of us spoke. Then Carol said, "You're not the man I thought you were."
I almost apologized. The impulse rose with such familiarity that I could feel the words forming before I stopped them. Instead I said, "I'm the same person, Carol. I'm just not agreeing to something I can't live with."
She ended the call without saying goodbye. I sat at my desk for several minutes, then joined my meeting late and admitted that I was distracted. My supervisor looked at me over the video call and asked whether I needed to reschedule. It was the first time in weeks someone had offered me a choice without requiring me to justify it.
Afterward I took a walk around the block. I felt guilty for having been so firm with a frightened mother, and then I felt angry at myself for feeling guilty. Two things could be true at once: Sarah's situation was serious, and I was not the person responsible for fixing it. I repeated that to myself until the words began to sound less like an argument and more like a fact.
Mia called the next afternoon. She had been Sarah's closest friend since college, a constant presence at our apartment, and someone I once thought of almost as family. She had slept on our couch after parties, eaten dinners I cooked, and borrowed my car when hers was in the shop. Her first words were not a greeting but a weary explanation that Sarah had asked her to call.
"I figured," I said.
Mia went straight into the story. She said Sarah was barely eating, had been staying up all night, and could not stop talking about how much she regretted losing me. She told me Sarah was finally ready to take responsibility and that I should at least agree to hear her out. Her tone suggested that my refusal was a temporary inconvenience she expected to solve with enough persistence.
"I've heard her out," I said. "She came to my apartment three days after I moved."