She's made him live like this. She asked him to live this way, so many times: as a favor, as a threat, as a means of survival, as a carrot. He did it gladly, again and again. And there goes the football, one more time, and she's just some lovely woman on a street corner, afraid to breathe. Afraid to start.
Around the corner, the bus. Rufus spots Scott, and goes running after him, but the kid keeps walking. He grabs at Scott's shoulder, smiling wildly, and Scott turns to face him angrily. "Stop. This was a mistake." Rufus begs him not to say that, but he doesn't stop. "All my life I wondered about my real parents. When I found out that they were you and Lily, that you were back together and you were getting married, I guess I hoped that I'd find out that you gave me up because you weren't ready. Not because you didn't love each other." Lily approaches; she slows at this. Rufus shakes his head: "Look, the difference is now I know we both want you -- need you -- in our lives. Sure, we've got our problems, but Lily and I love our children. And despite what you just saw, we love each other."
Lily nods, shaking. "He's right. He's the best father and the best man I've ever known. And uh, I am scared." She looks at Rufus. "Because marrying you means finally giving myself a real partner, my children a real father, and... Finally, letting myself truly love." Barf, but not untrue. Rufus is, of course, totally touched. "Lily..." She sighs. "I'm sorry, Rufus." Sorry I kept you tied to the pursestrings, sorry I tried to buy you off a million different ways, sorry I wouldn't let you be real. "And I'm sorry, Scott, that this is how you had to meet me." That's when she falls apart. If you want to know exactly when it happens, this is when:
"All I've thought about for the last twenty years is... Holding our child in my arms," she weeps, begging, as her son cries. She breaks apart, into a million photographs; all the pieces she's held onto since the day she left him, all the girls and women she's had to be since then, buttoned up. All those pieces, knitted up against the cold. "Please give us a chance."
Please tell me I can be redeemed for this one; please don't look and see me the way I am. See the person I'm trying so desperately to be. The woman Rufus believes in so utterly, so easily, that he breathed her into existence. The mother Charles gave the company, in love and trust; the mother Jenny blessed, in absolute peace and certainty. The woman Serena keeps running back to, no matter how many times I screw it up. The woman Eric forgave, after I nearly lost him. Please don't be another son I've lost. Please tell us that we have a chance, please give us that much: that what we throw away is less than what we keep. Her love for Rufus is standing right in front of her, strong back and musician's hands, Rufus's dreamy eyes and her proud cheekbones: To be profoundly lonely is a state that I've accepted. I want to deserve more. Please don't be another thing I drove away.