After the scene with Norman, and pushing aside the look on Sean's face, I made my way to get ready to leave the set for the day. I was in makeup with Abi, fully clothed in my own clothes, when we heard a knock on the trailer door. Giving permission to come in, I wish I could say I was surprised to see Sean walk in.

"Hey," he said, sounding more uncertain than I'd ever heard him sound. He smiled at Abi, watching as she massaged my face, my makeup having been removed only moments before. "I was wonderin', could we have a drink later?" He was clearly speaking to me and Abi knew it. "There's a scene comin' up and I wanted to get your input." Smooth, Sean, smooth.

I waited until Abi gave me a second to answer. "Sure," it was a simple answer, but both of us knew it was anything but easy. "Text me where you end up." He nodded and left, and I hoped that Abi didn't see anything wrong with the entire exchange.

"There," she said, standing back to look at her reverse handiwork. "You look cleaned up and completely relaxed." I nearly laughed, clearly she could see the outside, but not the inner turmoil that Sean's request had me dealing with.

Released from my day on set, I got into the car and drove to the hotel. I figured that Sean had a few more hours, at least, and then we were all due for a long weekend. Much deserved, if my nerves were any indication. I went to my room, took a long hot bath, and then decided to kill the time between now and my drink date with the errands I'd put off for days. I made a list for the grocery store. I called and got a last minute appointment with my chiropractor. I also texted Norman to let him know about Sean's request.

As I was walking out the door, I got a notification that Norman relied. "Let me know how it goes. Love you."

Trust, Jesus, it was amazing how much that man trusted me and his best friend. Not that he had anything to worry about, but still, it was so freaking amazing to me. I left and went about my errands, feeling supremely relaxed after my realignment. I was walking back into the hotel, with a few shopping bags when I heard Sean's voice call out to me. Looking up, I saw him standing with two boys and her. His wife and sons were here. In the same hotel we were staying in. I considered waving and rushing to the elevators, but that would look too strange, I thought. So I approached the lovely family scene that was before me.

"Jessa," Sean said, eyes on mine. "My family decided to surprise me with a visit, it's that great?" He hadn't known. That was clear from the look in his eyes and from the strain I could see around his smile.

I smiled down at his sons, not a far look down for one of them, but the other hadn't had his growth spurt yet. "That's an amazing surprise. Hello, I'm Jessa Halmond." I greeted the boys and their mother. Hoping against hope that she couldn't see how absolutely guilt I felt when I met her eyes. She took my offered hand and we shook, hopefully not gauging how the other stacked up. At least I was trying not to. The boys followed suit, and I had to grin at how fucking much they looked like Sean. "How long are you guys staying?" The weekend, that's what she offered. "Well, I hope you guys have a great time visiting your daddy. And you too," I offered, picking up my shopping bags and heading for the elevator. I was trying to decide, as the doors closed, had I just dodged a bullet in not having to meet Sean for that drink, or did I open another wound for the both of us?

Norman and I spent that night having a dinner that I cooked and then wrapping ourselves back into the bubble that we created in my room. He had one more day of shooting, then his weekend would start, but I had the entire three days free to do as I pleased.

What my body pleased, I found out when I woke up the next morning with Norman pressed against my back, was to get fucking sick. I could feel the burn of my throat, dry and achy. My entire body ached, making Norman's flesh against mine feel like it was torture. Hell, even the sheets and blankets against my skin hurt. I must have twitched or groaned, because I felt him move.

"Jessa?" he asked, as I tried to pull away. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

I could barely croak out my answer, and that's how he knew. I was sick. "You have to go, Norman. Now." I would love for him to stay and baby me, but if he got whatever I was dealing with, then production would stop, and we'd be stuck in Canada for who knew how long.

He wanted to argue, but he kissed my forehead and could feel the fever burning through me. "Fuck," he whispered. "Let me take you to the doctor first."

I shook my head. "I'll get a driver to take me. I swear, just get the hell out." I would have physically pushed him, but I had the energy of a really dank dishrag. "Please, baby?"

He didn't like it. He wanted to argue. He would have, but he also knew that I'd fight him. So he compromised. "Fine. Let me call the car, and you get ready. I'll go when you're on the way to the doctor." At that point, if it got him safely away from me, I'd have agreed to damn near anything.

I got up and worked to get presentable for the doctor. I grabbed my bag, and was happy when Norman told me the car was downstairs waiting for me. He wouldn't let me go down alone. And when I started to get dizzy and tilted to the side, I was grateful. He put me in the car, watched as I buckled myself in, and gave instructions to the driver for a nearby clinic he'd found while I was getting ready. Another kiss on my forehead, and he stood back, letting the door shut and grimacing at the thought that I wouldn't let him come with me.

I had a virus. A terrible, no good, very bad virus, but that meant that aside from something for my aching throat, and something for the fever, I was in a "drink plenty of fluids and wait" type of pattern. Once I was back in my own room with Tylenol, some type of liquid medicine to take the sore throat down a notch, and enough clear fluids to keep me floating for awhile, I texted Norman the news. And also the warning that I was self-quarantining. No one else needed to feel this shitty.

And for three days, I stayed to myself. Other than Norman's calls, or the texts that I shared with my family and Tabbi, I was in my own bubble of self-care. I took the fever reducer, and was so happy when I felt the fever finally break that I nearly danced. Nearly because I was so weak that I knew it was a bad idea to try it while unsupervised. I took the other medicine and nearly cheered when my throat no longer felt like I'd been swallowing acid for fun. Nearly because I didn't want to make it hurt again. I drank enough fluids to consider never having another drink again.

On the final night of what should have been an amazing long weekend, I heard a knock on my door. I was watching Supernatural on Netflix, bingeing since I couldn't focus on writing, and thought that Norman was trying to sneak past restrictions. Groaning, I shuffled to the door, still wrapped in one of the blankets that was my new constant companion. I opened the door, admonishment on my lips for my well meaning boyfriend, when I came up short at the sight of Sean standing there. Speechless, that's the term for what I was at the moment.

"Hey," his voice, still one of my favorite things about him, offered. "Heard you were sick, how are ya feelin'?"

I was gaping, I could feel the air being sucked through my open mouth and had to force myself to close it. "Better," my voice was still hoarse, but it was better than the first day. "Much better, actually."

"Can I?" He gestured to the interior of my rooms, and I realized that I was blocking the entrance. Could he? I wondered if it were a smart idea, I mean I wasn't feverish still, but did that mean I wasn't contagious?

"Why not?" I asked, feeling too tired to work through all the reasons he shouldn't. I turned from the door and shuffled back to my spot on the couch. It looked like a nest, extra blankets, a pillow from Norman's side of the bed, and so many glasses and bottles of drinks that my type A nearly came out. Nearly because I was still coming down from being sick that my entire body and mind was exhausted.

Sean settled into the chair nearest me, and I waited for him to speak. "Thanks for not running away when I called you over the other day." His eyes were on the television, I hadn't pushed pause, so the show had gone on when I answered the door. "You could have, and I would have understood why you did, but you didn't. Thank you."

I was getting comfy in my blanket as I thought of what he was saying. "It was nothing, Sean." My voice still sounded like sandpaper. "Besides, your boys are too adorable to ignore." I felt my smile form, but I felt a little hazy. Like the walk to the door had been a marathon, and now that it was over, I'd earned my rest.

The next thing I remember, was feeling like I was weightless. Then I felt like I was being laid on a cloud. A kiss on my forehead. And then darkness. Complete and total darkness.

When I woke up, hours later, I felt like I had to have dreamt that Sean had come to my rooms to thank me for simply saying hello to his family. Surely he hadn't come up and done that. Clearly I'd been so exhausted from whatever virus had overtaken my body that I'd inserted that into my dreaming after seeing his family days before.

I'd convinced myself until I sat up and saw the envelope with my name on it, propped up against a glass of water with two Tylenol beside it. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to throw it away. Toss it in the trash and ignore it. Coward, my mind screamed. And I knew that I would have to read it.

I put it off for as long as I could. I took a shower, feeling like my legs weren't jelly anymore, but still taking time to be careful. I brushed the full length of my hair and those fucking extensions, taking time to braid the whole mess. I cleaned up the mess of glasses and empty bottles. I folded the extra blankets, and returned Norman's pillow to the bed. I returned texts that had come in when I felt too sick to answer. I listened to my voicemails, feeling a little sad that I had an extra day off from Duffy because of my illness, but knowing I needed it. I sent a text to Norman telling him I couldn't wait to see him later.

And then I was out of things to do beside opening the letter. I took it into the living room area, and sat down on the couch. Closing my eyes to steel myself for whatever he might have to say, I opened the flap of the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of paper.

Jessa,

When you left me that note, so many years ago, you were right in so much of it. At least on the surface what you wrote was correct. My granddaddy did leave me a version of what Mickie's had, a recipe for what life should be about, what I should strive to have, and yes, who I should share it with. He looked me dead in the eye when he handed it down to me, and explained exactly how to use it.

Where you were wrong, what you refused to see, is that sometimes the recipe stays the same, but the final dish changes. Subtly. Or, in the case of you, entirely.

I will be the first to admit I hate being wrong, but I like to think that I'm man enough to own it when I am.

I was wrong to allow my first real attempt at the family recipe to go so wrong that it held me hostage by its certainty that I'd allow it.

I was wrong to not realize that I hadn't sat down with you, with that tattered fucking recipe in hand and show you how you checked every damn box.

I was wrong to let myself be consoled into thinking that coming after you to show you just how hard I really can fight for what I want, need, and love would be the wrong tactic-that you wouldn't want to see it.

I was wrong when I saw you and Norman talking that night at his house, thinking that he'd never be able to give you what I couldn't.

I was wrong when I took advantage of that scene that you were only compelled to film, simply because filming it with anyone else would have killed me.

I was wrong when I thought watching him, one of my best friends, have or begin to have the life I dreamt about with you, and feel that he shouldn't have that. Not with you.

You said I was a fighter. I thought I was. I was wrong.

If I really was a fighter, then you'd be here with me. The boys would know you like Norman's kids know you. I'd know your son like he knows him. I'd be by your side, night and day, sharing those looks, those kisses, and those touches that I miss like I'd miss my arm if I lost it.

I should have fought-for you. I know, even if you never tell me, even if you never admit it to yourself, that you felt the same. It wasn't just physical. My favorite memories from that week aren't of our physical intimacy. It's the first time we spoke, your openness and silliness. It's when you showed me your "other" works and watched me while I read them. It's when you'd be sitting across the room editing while I read scripts, the quiet easy and comforting, and so damn natural.

Physically we were like fire. But hearing your laughter, watching you watch me reading something you weren't sure of, watching you create, and enjoy life even if you were in the midst of the strain of promoting your work to the next level, that's what I remember most.

I miss those moments. Moments I've ONLY had with you. Memories that I clutch to me every time I see you, every single time I see you creating more with Norman. Seeing you finally meet my boys, seeing that same genuine openness that is uniquely you, even in what I know must have been an uncomfortable situation, was one of the things I'd hoped to have with you then.

I had hoped, during our week, that you'd HEARD me when I told you that I was falling in love. That you LISTENED when I told you why. That you UNDERSTOOD that I'm not fickle, not so easily attached or overcome. Clearly that was my biggest failing. I mean every single word I spoke to you.

When I said I wanted to keep you, I meant forever. When I told you I'd never met anyone like you, I meant that meeting you was like finding the light in the darkness. I can hear you scoff even before you touch these words, but I'm telling you-US? You and me? It was real. It was true. And I should have worked harder to prove it.

You called yourself my BDM-that's the worst thing I have ever heard anyone call themselves. But for you to think that's what you were to me? That's so wrong that it nearly broke me into pieces. I've made bad decisions in my life. You, our time together, how I felt for you? That doesn't even dip its toe into the BDM column.

My biggest BDM-that was reading your note, accepting YOUR decision, and sending flowers instead of following you home. I was stupid and weak. I should have fought to show you just how much I love you. I love you. Not past tense, I love you.

I'm sure this letter, my words during our scene, none of it changes anything. But I had to tell you. I had to know that you KNEW. Even if nothing changes. I will love you until my heart stops beating. Even if you've stopped loving me.

Sean