"—always deciding what's best without?—"
The back door of Lane's car opens.Sanders stands there, his chin trembling. The glint of tears catches in the afternoon sun.
"I just wanted to help Luke not be stuck to a machine anymore." His voice cracks, muffled.
The words slice through me. My throat closes around a sudden knot of shame. This isn't about Lane and me. It's not about our baggage or our broken patterns.
It's about our son trying to do something good in a world that's taught him, at nine, that his parents can't even stand together long enough to support him.
Lane goes still. Her breath catches. For a long moment, nobody speaks. The weight of Sanders' words hangs in the space between us, heavy with accusation and innocence.
I swallow hard, guilt twisting deep in my being. I've been here before. I seem to have a habit of making choices I thought were right, only realizing too late what they cost.
Lane turns toward Sanders, her shoulders softening. "Baby, I know you did," she says, voice gentler now. "And we're proud of you. I was just telling your dad that something like this has to be thought out. The world is a scary place, and I want to be careful, that's all."
Sanders walks up to us, and that familiar smell of grape shampoo hits me. His eyes are still glassy with unshed tears.
"Come here, buddy," I say gently, pulling him into me for a side hug.
Lane turns her focus and ire away from me, facing Sanders. "I'm proud of you, Bud," she says quietly. "Let's just make sure going forward we don't do anything more without talking first, okay? When things go viral, it can get out of control fast."
Sanders nods, confused but earnest. "Okay. But Mom, people are being nice. That's what #SaveChristmas isabout. I don't want you guys to fight about this. It's supposed to bring people together, not push us apart."
The December sun glares off windshields, sharp enough to make me squint. A gust of exhaust and cart wheels rattling fills the air as people stream in and out of Target, arms loaded with bags and tinsel-colored plastic.
The three of us could use some of that Christmas joy right about now.
She brushes hair off his forehead. "You're right, Sanders. And your dad and I will work together with you." She looks at me when she says this, as if I'm the one turning this into World War III. I give her a single nod and rub my hand up Sanders's arm.
Lane exhales, the fight bleeding out of her shoulders. The edge softens as Sanders looks up at us with that fierce little-kid conviction that always manages to cut through the noise.
That old muscle memory, the two of us as partners, not opponents, takes off. For a heartbeat, I remember what it was to face the world with Lane at my side, both of us a team, fierce guardians of this small human we created.
I sense it like a breath of something long buried.
Sanders looks between us, hopeful, sensing the change. His fingers twist in his lap. "So, can we still help Luke?"
Lane looks away, breaking the spell. "Yes, of course we can. But let's look at all of this together and come up with a plan."
Again, she looks at me and raises a single eyebrow. For the life of me, I don't know how she summons it to do that.
I nod, understanding the retreat. Some walls take more than one moment to come down.
"How about I follow y'all to your house and the three of us sit downto talk about it?"
"That works. I'm not sure I have any food, but I can order a pizza if you're hungry."
"I'm good. But thank you."
Lane's phone rings. She pulls it out of her back pocket and scrunches her face.
"Who's calling from New York?"
I shrug, no clue about who calls her from where. I'm sure she wasn't really asking me, anyway. Lane hesitates, then picks it up, pressing it to her ear.
"Hello?" Her voice carries the same cautious tone she uses with telemarketers.
I can't hear the caller, but I watch Lane's face transform. Her eyebrows lift, then draw together. Her lips part slightly.
