“I always have an exit strategy.”
“Emotionally or physically?”
“Both.”
I put the pen down.
“You can keep the physical one.”
“What about emotional?”
“Try staying.”
The request touched too many old injuries. Amy set down the notepad.
“I am staying.”
I believed her immediately. That was the frightening part.
The drive home was quieter than the drive up. Most competitors slept. Blake wore headphones and occasionally woke to announce engagement metrics. Amy rested against my shoulder. She did not pretend to be asleep this time. Our hands remained joined beneath her jacket. At a rest stop, Miguel called. Amy put him on speaker.
“Congratulations,” he said. “How’s the knee?”
“Stable.”
“Pain scale?”
“Two from general soreness. Zero localized pain.”
“Good. This week is recovery. No running until Thursday at the earliest.”
Amy’s mouth tightened before she argued.
“She agrees,” I said.
Miguel laughed.
“Do you?”
Amy held my gaze.
“I agree.”
“Excellent. I’ll send the revised plan. And Dani?”
“Yeah?”
“The transfer remains in force after the half.”
The reminder landed harder than expected. I had agreed weeks ago. It was right. Still, the marathon plan had become the structure through which Amy and I learned each other. Not being allowed to reclaim it felt like losing a language twice.
“Understood,” I said.
Amy squeezed my hand. Miguel continued.
“You can join easy runs if Amy wants and I assign them. But no pace assignments, no changes, no secret extra intervals.”
Amy raised one eyebrow.
