Her eyes widen, just slightly, and for a second, I think I’ve gotten through to her. But then she pulls back, her expression hardening again. "That’s a nice line," she says, her voice quieter but no less cutting. "But it doesn’t change the fact that I havea son to think about. This isn’t just about me. My life is here. Ollie’s life is here. Marcus and I share custody—this is his home. Yours is in Nashville. We could never make this work, even if we wanted to."

"I know where your life is, Sienna," I say, my voice steady even as my chest tightens. "And I’m not asking you to uproot it. I don’t even know what this looks like yet. But I’m not going back to Nashville and forgetting about you. I’m not walking away again."

Her eyes narrow, her hands tightening around the edge of the counter. "Still… We have no idea what tomorrow holds. I don’t have the luxury of seeing where the cards fall."

"Let’s figure it out," I say, leaning forward. "I don’t have all the answers, but I’m willing to try. If that’s not enough—if I’m not enough—then say so. But don’t throw this away and blame it on me. Because that is on you."

She stands suddenly, grabs her mug, and walks toward the kitchen. "I need to get ready for work," she says over her shoulder, her tone final.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the spot where she stood, the weight of everything settling over me like a storm cloud. Then I stand, running a hand through my hair as I grab my jacket.

When she comes back, I’m still standing by the door. I glance at her, searching for something—anything—in her expression that tells me I haven’t completely lost her. "I meant what I said," I tell her. "I’m not giving up."

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she opens the door and waits for me to step outside. The click of the door shutting behind me feels like a verdict I don’t know how to overturn.

SEVENTEEN

Sienna

I lost you to the lies he told

8:52 AM

I sit on the couch,staring at the closed door as if Callum might walk back through it. My hands are still curled around my mug, the coffee lukewarm by now, but I can’t bring myself to move.

His words replay in my head on a loop: "I’m not giving up, Sienna. Not this time."

I hate how much I want to believe him. I hate how badly I want to trust that this time will be different, that he won’t disappear the second something, or someone, shiny lures him away. But the truth is, I don’t know if I can.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my spiral. I blink, setting the mug down as I stand and I glance at the Ring app on my phone.Emma texted last night that she would swing by to pick up the watercolor set I borrowed for Ollie’s school project, and I told her I’d be home all morning.

I certainly didn't expect her during the school day.

When I open the door, she’s standing there with her coat buttoned up tight and a coffee an empty cup in one hand. "Morning," she says, stepping inside before I can offer. "You’ve got the heat on too high. I nearly melted just walking through the door."

"Good morning to you, too," I say, shutting the door behind her. "Why aren't you at school."

"Conference day," she says, dropping her bag on the floor and unbuttoning her coat. "I’m technically working, but I needed a break from talking to parents about why little Timmy refuses to draw anything other than stick figures and sunshines with eyes and a smile."

I laugh despite myself, motioning toward the kitchen. "Coffee’s on if you need it."

"Thanks, but I’m good. Already finished my cup and I'm jittery," she says, setting her cup on the counter. Her gaze flicks to me, and her expression softens. "Okay, you look upset. Is everything okay? Are you still going down rabbit holes about Finley James?"

I blink, caught off guard. "I'm fine."

Emma raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Don’t ‘I'm fine’ me. You’ve got that face. I've known you almost a decade. You’ve had a lot of shit going on lately, Si. It’s okay not to be fine.”

”You’re right. I’m not really fine," I admit, stepping aside to let her in. "I'm a stage four mess if I'm being completely honest."

She shrugs off her coat, tossing it over the back of a chair before flopping onto the couch like she owns the place. "Is it still the Callum-Finley thing, or something else?"

"Callum was here," I say, sitting beside her. "You actually just missed him. I'm surprised y'all didn't bump into each other on the sidewalk."

Emma’s brows shoot up. "Oh. Okay. I didn’t expect you to say that. So, how did it go?"

"We talked." I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "He said he wants to figure things out, that he’s not giving up. But then I brought up Finley, and it went nowhere."

I can see Emma’s brow furrow as she processes that, and I brace myself for her reaction. I’d told her everything a few days ago. I texted her a few of the articles and the photos of Callum and Finley. I told her the way it made my stomach drop and how it felt like a punch to the gut to see him with her, even though deep down, I knew I had no claim to him. Not anymore.