“The true one.”
I thought about Emily.
Then said:
“I spent a long time choosing someone else’s comfort over my own growth.”
Elise nodded.
“And now?”
“I’m trying not to make the opposite mistake.”
“What is the opposite?”
“Choosing myself so aggressively that nobody else matters.”
She smiled.
“That sounds very American.”
I laughed.
Life became mine again.
Not a revenge life.
Not a performance designed for Emily to envy.
Just mine.
Six months after moving, I flew home for a mutual friend’s wedding.
I almost declined.
Not because of Emily.
Because international travel for a weekend sounded exhausting.
Then Mark, the groom, called.
“If you don’t come, I will personally tell everyone you became European and forgot us.”
“That’s not how nationality works.”
“I don’t care.”
So I went.
The wedding was outside the city.
String lights.
Autumn evening.
A converted barn decorated with white flowers and candles.
The kind of place Emily would have loved.
I arrived alone.
Friends hugged me.
Asked about Amsterdam.
Work.
Bikes.
Travel.
I told stories.
Not exaggerated ones.
I did not need them to believe my life was extraordinary.
It was simply good.
Then I saw Emily.
She stood near the opposite side of the reception space.
She looked different.
Not ruined.
Not some theatrical version of karma.
Just tired.
Thinner.
Her dress was slightly wrinkled.
Hair less carefully styled than I remembered.
For several seconds, we looked at each other.
Then she walked over.
“Alex.”
“Emily.”
She smiled nervously.
“You look good.”
“So do you.”
That was polite.
She knew it.
“I heard you were coming.”
“Mark invited me.”
“I almost didn’t.”
I waited.
“Can we talk?”
“This isn’t really the place.”
“Please.”
I looked toward the cocktail area.
People nearby were beginning to notice.
“Five minutes.”
We moved outside near the side garden.
Emily wrapped her arms around herself.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know.”
“Why won’t you answer?”
“What is left to discuss?”
Her eyes filled almost immediately.
“Everything.”
I said nothing.
Emily took a breath.
“I was wrong.”
“About?”
“Jake.”
“That isn’t really about me.”
“About you too.”
I waited.
“I called you insecure.”
“Yes.”
“I made you feel controlling for asking for boundaries.”
“Yes.”
“I compared you to him.”
“Yes.”
“Can you stop saying yes like that?”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Emily almost smiled too.
For one second, we felt familiar.
Then it disappeared.
“He cheated on me.”
I looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
She seemed surprised.