(Connie's POV)
I step away from the two of them before I say something I can't take back in front of an eleven-year-old, which is a skill I've had to develop specifically for Sean Clark over the years, because left unchecked I have absolutely no filter left where he's concerned.
There's a newsstand a few gates down, magazines nobody reads anymore fanned out under fluorescent light next to overpriced water bottles and a rack of neck pillows shaped like question marks, and I plant myself beside it and pull out my phone before the anger I'm currently sitting on has a chance to cool into something more diplomatic.
Rebecca answers on the second ring. There's baby noise in the background immediately — small, snuffling, entirely uninterested in the drama currently unfolding three thousand mile
