The irony was suffocating. Then her friends started calling. They found me through Dave, which I found out later. I picked up one day thinking it was a work call. It was her best friend, Melissa.
Mark? She asked, her voice syrupy sweet. It's Melissa. Listen, I know you guys have some stuff to work out, but Sarah is a mess. She needs you.
Melissa, I said, my voice flat. I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing to work out. Please, she needs a friend right now. You were always so good to her.
You need to be there for her. That's not my job anymore, I said, a wave of cold detachment washing over me. I'm not the same person she left and I'm not her friend. There was a pause on the line and her voice went from sweet to accusatory. You're being cruel, Mark.
How can you be so heartless? I'm not heartless, I said. I'm just not hers anymore. I hung up the phone and blocked her number. Her mother even reached out.
She sent a long text pleading with me to save her daughter. She wrote about how Sarah was losing herself and that she never should have left a good man like me. It was all a desperate attempt to manipulate me into playing the role of her savior. I read the message, put my phone down and went for a run. The emotional charge from it all was completely gone.
I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel sad. I just felt nothing. She was a stranger. Her attempts became increasingly erratic.
She started posting cryptic messages on social media about how some people can't handle the truth and how some people choose to run from their problems. She even posted an old photo of us together with a caption about missing what was real. It was all a performance, a frantic attempt to get a reaction. She was trying to drag me back into her drama, but I was a ghost. I was in my new apartment on a Friday night.
It was finally starting to feel like home. The walls were painted a deep gray, my new furniture was comfortable and clean, and my custom PC was glowing from the corner. It was a space I had built for myself. There was no art on the walls, just a few framed photos of my own, landscapes from solo hikes I'd taken. My phone was silenced, my night was quiet, and I was at peace.
Then there was a loud, aggressive knock on my door. I looked through the peephole and saw her. It was Sarah. Her face was haggard, her makeup was smeared, and her eyes were red. She looked like a ghost of the smug, confident woman who had left me 6 months ago.
She hammered on the door again. I took a deep breath. I felt no fear, no anger, no sympathy, just a sense of finality. I opened the door. She took a step back, her eyes wide as she took in the new place, the new me.
My new apartment was bigger, cleaner, and filled with a quiet confidence that our old place never had. I didn't say a word. I just looked at her, my face a blank mask. "Mark," she said, her voice a cracked whisper. "I know this is crazy.