70

THEA

I lift Finn into my arms the moment I see him, like I’m afraid he’ll vanish if I don’t hold him close enough.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper into his hair, hugging him tight, the scent of cookies and crayons and his shampoo doing something awful to my chest. “I’m so sorry I was late.”

He just shrugs like it’s nothing. “It’s okay, Mommy. Lilly’s mommy was late too. She’s still inside,” he adds proudly, like it’s some kind of leaderboard and I’m in second place.

I bite back a laugh, clutching him tighter, lunch bag straps clutched between my fingers as I thank his homeroom teacher, Mrs Patel, with a tight, embarrassed smile. She waves me off like this is standard procedure, like forgetting your child is just part of the fine print in the motherhood contract.

Maybe it is.

We walk toward the parking lot—well, I walk, Finn does this happy little bounce in my arms like he’s just glad to be in motion—and for a split second, I feel okay.

Then—

“Where’s your car, Mommy?” he asks, turning his head toward the usual direction.

Ah.

There it is.

My stomach dips like I’ve just missed a step on the stairs.

“Well,” I say, too brightly, “my car’s taking a little nap. She got very tired after all… I did to it.”

Finn tilts his head. “Cars nap?”

“Absolutely. Especially when you cram them full of suede jackets, strappy heels, and seventeen hangers you didn’t actually need but bought anyway,” I mutter mostly to myself.

Ezra steps out of his car then, sleek and black and expensive—I don't even know the brand. Maybe Benz—and comes to open the door for us.

Finn’s eyes widen.

“That’s not your car,” he says, squinting at Ezra like he’s trying to figure out if we’re being kidnapped or chauffeured by Batman.

“Nope,” I say, shifting him on my hip. “This is Ezra. He’s… a friend.”

Ezra offers a small wave and one of his more appropriate smiles—thankfully not the one that comes with bedroom intentions or boardroom snipers. “Hi, Finn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Finn looks at me, squinting hils eyes. “Did you tell him I can do the Spiderman flip?”

I nod solemnly. “It was the first thing I said.”

He seems satisfied by that and nods back at Ezra. “Okay. But I’m sitting by the window.”

Ezra’s smile twitches, eyes darting from me to him. “Of course.”

We slide into the car, and I can feel it—the shift. That weird ache in my chest. The guilt, the chaos, the tenderness.

And now this quiet, almost sacred moment.

My son.

Ezra.

In the same space.

Breathing the same air.

And I have no idea what comes next.

But for now, I steal one small glance at the rearview mirror.

Finn’s playing with the buttons on the armrest, happy. Ezra’s focused on the road.

And I?

I’m caught somewhere between relief and the terrifying, gut-deep realization—

They just met.

My two worlds just collided.

And God help me, I think I want them to fit but not now. I want to be at my best when they do.

By the time we pull up in front of the house, Finn is halfway through a story about how his class caterpillar is definitely going to turn into a dragon and not a butterfly because the new boy named Kyle pissed on it.

His arms are flailing, his voice bouncing off the leather interior, and Ezra—bless him—actually hums along like he’s following every twist in the deeply chaotic plot.

I smile, a small one, but it’s there. That weird weight that’s been clinging to my chest since I saw the clock at the office starts to loosen, just a little.

Ezra parks smoothly in front of the house, hands still on the wheel as I unbuckle Finn and slide out of the car. He’s right behind me, backpack slipping off one shoulder and Spiderman lunchbox flapping against my hip.

I set him down, and he looks up at me, squinting slightly like he’s trying to solve a very serious puzzle.

“Mommy,” he says in that innocent, calculating way children use when they’re about to expose your deepest adult secrets as his eyes dart from me to Ezra, “is your friend waiting for dinner?”

I freeze. Not completely, but enough that my spine stiffens just a hair and my fingers twitch around the lunchbox strap. My eyes flick automatically to Ezra, who’s now watching us from the driver’s seat, one brow slightly raised.

Oh no.

Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say you want to come in. Please don’t be that courteous, polite, perfect kind of man who insists he doesn’t mind—

“No,” Ezra says simply, still watching Finn. His voice is calm and neutral.

I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until I release it, slow and quiet, like an old balloon deflating in secret.

Finn just shrugs, unfazed. “Okay. Another time then.”

Ezra gives a small nod, eyes still locked on me now like he knows.

Like he feels the microscopic relief pulsing through me like a heartbeat. Like he knows I’m hanging by emotional threads today, and this—him staying—might unravel the last one and I might just kiss him before Finn and blow everything off before time.

I give him a grateful smile, small and full of things I don’t have the energy to say right now.

He nods again, flashes me a smirk that makes my stomach churn, puts the car in gear, and then just… drives off.

My eyes linger on his car until he's out of sight.

I look down at Finn, who’s already trying to unzip his backpack while walking toward the house.

“Come on, baby,” I say softly, reaching for his hand. “Let’s save dinner for another time.”