I felt sadness rather than triumph. Part of me had wanted her to acknowledge exactly what she'd said about my career, and now she was doing it, but the words had arrived after I'd rebuilt my life without her. There was nothing satisfying about seeing a person I once loved so unhappy. I wanted her to recover, to find a good job, and to learn what kind of relationship would truly make her happy, but I no longer wanted to be the person beside her while she learned.
"I appreciate you saying that," I told her. "I know things have been difficult, and I'm sorry for what you've been through. But I don't want to restart our relationship." Her face changed as the meaning reached her. She asked whether I could really say that after four years, after everything we'd shared, without even considering another chance.
"I've considered us for a long time," I said. "I considered us when I turned down Amsterdam the first time, and the second, and the third. I considered us every time I tried to talk about Jake and ended up apologizing for having feelings. When you told me you wanted a break, I finally accepted that we weren't building the same future." I kept my voice low because I wasn't speaking for the benefit of anyone listening.
Emily looked down at the floor. She said she hadn't understood how much those decisions meant to me and that she'd believed there would always be another opportunity. I told her that another opportunity had come, but that wasn't the point anymore. The point was that a relationship couldn't be sustained by one person repeatedly postponing his life while the other called the postponement love.
For a few seconds, I thought she might accept that. She nodded, wiped at her eyes, and whispered that she'd been selfish. Then she said her mother thought I should forgive her, that Lisa thought I was being cruel by refusing contact, and that everybody agreed people deserved a second chance. The familiar movement from apology to outside pressure was so quick it almost made me dizzy.
"You can have a second chance at your life," I said. "You can rebuild your career, make better decisions, and find people who are right for you. But that doesn't mean your second chance has to be with me." She asked whether I was saying she no longer mattered, and I shook my head. "I'm saying our relationship is over. I don't want to hurt you, but I won't pretend otherwise."
She stared at me with tears in her eyes. "You're really just done?" she asked. "You're in Amsterdam having this amazing life, and I'm here trying to fix everything, and you won't even meet me halfway?" I thought of the years I'd spent offering compromises that never became shared plans. I told her meeting halfway only worked when two people were walking toward the same place, and we hadn't been for a long time.