“Your decision, then.”
The four-week reassessment waited in four days. The charity-entry page remained closed. Mostly. I had opened it once after the ten-mile run. I had not entered anything.
“What if I choose not to race?” I asked.
“I will love you.”
Loveentered the room, clear and unqualified. Amy’s hand tightened around mine as color rose into her face. She had said it—not almost, not inside a phrase.
“I did not plan that.”
I could not breathe correctly.
“Say it again.”
Her eyes met mine. The fear was there. So was certainty.
“I will love you if you race,” she said. “I will love you if you do not. I love you now.”
Everything inside me opened. The marathon. The panic. The years of believing love required usefulness. None of it disappeared. It simply stopped being the only truth. I rose to my knees beside the sofa.
“I love you too.”
Amy closed her eyes, relief loosening her face. I kissed her slowly. Her hand came to the back of my neck; the ice pack slid to the floor and remained there. When the kiss ended, she opened her eyes.
“This is terrible timing.”
“You ran eighteen miles.”
“I am dehydrated emotionally.”
“Is that a condition?”
“It may impair judgment.”
“Say it tomorrow.”
“I will.”
“Truth?”
She smiled.
“I love you.”
I kissed her again. The run belonged to Amy. The decision belonged to me. The love belonged to both of us. Amy fell asleep before ten, one hand still curled near mine. At ten forty-seven, my phone lit with the charity coordinator’s final reminder.
COMMUNITY PARTNER ENTRY DEADLINE — 11:59 P.M. ACCEPTED ENTRIES POST TO THE PUBLIC ROSTER MONDAY.
The mile-twenty-two crossing was still in my body. So was Amy’s eighteen. So were the wordsIloveyouifyourace.Iloveyouifyoudonot.For a few hours, wanting felt clean and available. The deadline made it feel temporary. If I slept, fear might return before courage did. The registration page held my saved information. Name. Emergency contact. Charity commitment. A box confirming that an entry was not medical clearance or a race plan.
An entry was paperwork. A race plan would be the real decision. The distinction had Amy’s precise shape and my motive hidden inside it. I knew that. I used it anyway. I opened a message to Rose.
The deadline is tonight. I want the entry. Can we talk before I submit?
She would not answer before midnight. I could still send it and let the deadline pass. I deleted it. I opened one to Amy.
The charity deadline is tonight. I want to register and decide the race plan after reassessment. Please wake up.
