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The drive is short,but my mind runs in loops the whole way. Not about the shoot or the product timeline or Lily’s betrayal. But about Sean. About the way he looked at me after Lily was dismissed. Like he was waiting for me to say something. Like maybe he didn’t want to walk away after all.

But I let him.

I slow the car into the driveway, surprised to find the front yard occupied.

There’s a lemonade stand with a bright yellow construction paper taped to the front with a misspelled sign in crayon: “Eric’s Lemonaid.”

Sean and Eric are crouched behind it, pouring from a plastic pitcher into two tiny cups, surrounded by wood, paint cans, and a bucket of real lemons.

I park and step out of the car, smiling despite the ache in my chest.

“Mommy!” Eric calls out, waving a paintbrush. “Look what we made!”

“Wow. It looks amazing.”

“Want to try my lemonade? Sean helped me squeeze the lemons.”

I walk over and take the little cup he offers. It’s warm and a little too sweet.

I drink every drop.

“It’s perfect,” I say.

Eric beams again.

“We’re calling it Eric’s Lemonaid,” he announces. “With real flavors and a real sign!”

Sean stands, brushing sawdust from his jeans. “He’s got a strong entrepreneurial streak.”

“Hmm. I wonder where he gets it,” I tease, letting my eyes linger on him a moment too long.

He says nothing.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, surprising myself.

Sean hesitates before nodding. “Sure.”

That night, after Eric’s asleep and the dishes are done, we sit on the back patio. The air is cool and the stars are sharp above us, and for a few seconds, it almost feels like everything is okay.

I hand him a glass of wine. He takes it without speaking.

“Thank you,” I say. “For today. For looking out for us. For… everything.”

He watches me. Eyes unreadable.

“It kind of sounds like you’re saying goodbye,” he says.

I let out a quiet laugh. “I guess we’ll all be going back to our lives soon. I’ll return back to my home, and then you can have your house back to yourself.”

“That’s good, I guess. You deserve peace.”

“I know I don't say this often but it’s nice having you around. You’ve helped me hold it all together when I felt like I was losing control.”

He looks at me, twirling the glass of wine in his hand.

“You never lost control. You made decisions. You trusted the wrong person. That’s not the same thing.”

“It feels the same,” I admit. “Sometimes.”