(Rebecca's POV)
I pull back. Wipe his face with my thumb.
"I'll call you tomorrow," I say. "We'll figure out cookies. Okay?"
He nods. Sniffles once. The corner of his mouth twitches toward something that isn't quite a smile yet, but is trying to be.
I stand.
Look at Sean one more time.
Nothing in my chest asks me to say anything else. So I don't. I turn. My heels find the concrete, steady, even, and I walk toward the glass doors of my own building.
Behind me: breathing gone rough and uneven. Under that, smaller, Jack's crying, thinner now, working itself out the way it does when a child has cried enough to start running dry.
I don't turn around.
I push through the doors. The lobby air is cool against my face, the hum of the building settling around me — elevators, footsteps, the l
