“Good.”
Her voice was formal. Not cold. Controlled. I wanted to touch her. I kept both hands beneath the table. Amy began.
“Miguel has full control of my marathon plan. You will no longer join training runs or provide informal coaching.”
I accepted the consequence.
“Okay.”
“Rose remains your physical-therapy provider. Broader medical and mental-health decisions stay with the appropriate clinicians.”
“Yes.”
“Challenge participation is suspended pending sponsor review.”
“Blake told me.”
“I will not participate in couples content while the relationship is unresolved.”
“Okay.”
The hardest part remained.
“I need space from the romantic relationship.”
The room compressed.
“How much?” escaped before I could contain it. Amy straightened.
“I do not know.”
“Okay.”
“I am not ending it because you registered.”
I waited.
“I am stepping away because you hid the registration. Because I asked you direct questions and you—” Amy stopped. Her fingers pressed together until the knuckles whitened. “You gave me sentences designed to make me stop asking.”
“Yes.”
“You did it to Rose too.”
“Yes.”
“And I learned with strangers watching.”
“Yes.”
Yes was all I had. No defense or joke. Amy folded her hands.
“Why?”
Rose’s warning returned. Explanation only if she wants it. She had asked.
“I crossed mile twenty-two,” I said. “Then you ran eighteen. You told me you loved me whether I raced or not. For a few hours, I believed that meant I was free to choose.”
“You were.”
