She wiped her cheek with the side of one finger. "Could we at least be friends? I don't want to lose you completely."
I considered the question seriously instead of answering simply to end the encounter. There might come a time when I could hear news about her without feeling the faint pull of our old habits. That did not mean friendship was appropriate or something either of us truly wanted. What she seemed to need was the reassurance and stability I used to offer, and friendship could become another name for the same arrangement.
"Not now," I said. "I need you to stop contacting me and my family. Please let us have our distance."
Her shoulders dropped. She glanced at Emily again, and her expression briefly hardened. "So that's it? You just have a new girlfriend and suddenly everything we had is disposable?"
The old pattern appeared so clearly that I felt more tired than angry. My life had moved forward, and she was trying to make the forward movement itself sound like a betrayal.
I looked at her steadily. "No," I said. "What we had wasn't disposable. That's why what happened hurt. Emily has nothing to do with why we ended."
Emily had remained quiet throughout the exchange. She had not interrupted, challenged Sarah, or turned the moment into a competition. Now she looked at Sarah and said in a calm voice, "I think Alex has answered your question."
Sarah opened her mouth as if to argue, then stopped. She looked from Emily to me, and whatever she saw seemed to confirm that there was no longer a familiar opening she could push through. The restaurant's background noise continued around us. A waiter paused a few steps away, assessed the situation, and returned to another table when he saw that none of us needed help.
"I really am sorry, Alex," Sarah said at last. The words came without the defensive qualifications I had heard in her messages. I could not know whether they reflected genuine insight, fear, or some mixture of both. I did not need to determine that in order to answer her honestly.
"I hear you," I said. "And I hope you find your way through this. But it won't be with me."
She nodded once, though she looked as if the movement required effort. Then she turned and walked back toward the front of the restaurant. I did not watch her gather her things or leave. I turned to Emily, whose expression was thoughtful and concerned, and asked whether she was okay.
"I'm okay," she said. "How are you?"
I considered the question. My hands were steady, but there was a tightness in my chest I had not felt in weeks. "Sad, I think," I admitted. "Not because I want her back. Because I remember who we used to be, and I don't like seeing anyone suffer."
Emily nodded. "That sounds normal."
"I was worried I might get angry. Or say something cruel."