(Sean's POV)
I don't care. I'm not here for how I look.
I'm here because it's the only thing left I know how to do.
The lobby doors open at 6:52 in the morning on the second day.
I'm out of the car before I decide to move.
She sees me before I reach her. Stops on the sidewalk, coffee in one hand, bag over her shoulder, her face doing something careful and unreadable that I've learned, slowly, to stop trying to predict.
I don't stop walking until I'm three feet away.
Then I go down on my knees on the concrete.
"Rebecca."
My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. Two days without sleep does something to a voice, strips the polish off it, leaves only what's underneath.
"Please. Come home. I know what I did — everything, all of it, I finally understand what six years actually loo
