“Who the hell is she?” The woman’s voice sliced through the diner like a damn knife—sharp, loud, just wrong. Her purse swung at her hip like she was ready to clock someone. Camille’s whole chest caved in. Her heart slammed into her ribs, fast and stupid, and her palm slipped right off Ellie’s. Sweat. So much sweat. And she couldn’t breathe. Not properly.

The woman—red lipstick smeared like she didn’t care, tight-ass ponytail, eyes that could gut a person—stared. First at Ellie. Then at Adrian. Then at Camille, like she was something that needed to be scraped off her shoe.

The diner lights buzzed—too loud. Too much. One of them flickered like it was dying. Shadows jumped across the cracked linoleum floor, weird and jagged, like they were alive or something. Camille blinked. Her throat was dry as sand. Her eyes burned. Everything inside her screamed, Another one? Who—who even was this? Her brain felt like it exploded into static. No. No, she couldn’t. Not again. Not this.

Her stomach twisted, hard. Nausea rose like a tide, sharp and mean. She wanted to bolt—just grab Ellie and run. Her backpack was still on the floor by the booth. It looked pathetic. Torn. A joke.

Adrian—God, Adrian looked wrecked. His hands were shaking. His jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “Lydia,” he croaked out, voice all cracked and rough like it hurt just saying her name. “What are you—why are you here?” He took a step, just one, but it sounded loud. Squeaky sneakers on linoleum. His eyes flicked to Ellie—who was now curled against Camille’s side, her crayons scattered across the table and floor like tiny broken dreams.

Camille’s chest burned. He’s falling apart... and I’m just… here? Stuck in this mess?

Lydia laughed. But it wasn’t really a laugh. It was bitter and sharp and mean, like shattering glass. “Why am I here?” she echoed, her voice brittle. “You’re the one playing house with her.” She jabbed a red-tipped finger at Camille.

Camille flinched. Her face flamed. Playing house? Like she was pretending? Like she was a little girl with dolls? Like I’m a joke?

Suddenly the past clawed its way up her throat—foster homes, cold sheets, voices whispering she’d never be enough. Her knees wobbled. She grabbed the edge of the booth, nails dragging across the sticky vinyl. It squeaked under her grip. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t speak. Her brain felt thick—foggy. Like she was underwater.

“Enough!” Tara’s heels clicked against the tiles. She stepped in between Lydia and Adrian like some kind of half-hearted shield. Her perfume hit Camille like a slap—sweet, suffocating, too much. Camille’s head spun.

“This isn’t your business, Lydia,” Tara snapped, but even her voice shook. Her eyes flicked to David—he was leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, smirking like he was enjoying every second of this mess.

Camille’s heart thundered. Her ears rang. Her hoodie clung to her back, damp and heavy. Her grip on Ellie’s hand was the only thing grounding her.

“Ellie’s my niece,” Lydia said, soft now—but in that creepy, threatening way. Her voice dripped danger. “You don’t get to keep her from family, Adrian.”

Family?

She stepped closer. Her purse bumped her hip again. Loud. Sharp. Camille’s stomach dropped. Hard.

Niece? Wait. What? Tara’s sister?

“Oh God—what the hell is happening?” her thoughts spiraled, spinning too fast.

Ellie whimpered. Her small fingers clenched tighter. Camille’s throat burned. Guilt—rage—panic—something else, something worse. Something soft. Something dangerous. I’m not her mom. I know I’m not. But the way Ellie clung to her like she was? That did something ugly to her chest.

Adrian looked like he couldn’t breathe. His hands clenched, then unclenched. “You don’t know her, Lydia,” he said. His voice cracked. “You haven’t even seen her in years. You don’t get to—” He stopped. Swallowed. His jaw worked like he was choking on something.

Then he looked at Camille.

And everything else—the buzzing, the lights, David’s smug face, Tara’s fake scent—all of it just disappeared. For a moment, it was just that look. Like he was drowning. And she—she didn’t know what to do with that. Because she wanted to help him. Even if it felt like betraying herself.

Stop it. He’s not yours. He never was.

David scoffed, cutting through the air like a blade. “Family?” he said, all fake-shocked. “That’s rich coming from you. You didn’t want her when Tara left.”

He stepped closer. Shoes squeaked again. His eyes landed on Ellie.

Camille’s skin crawled. She didn’t even know why. Something in his face—like he was calculating. Like Ellie was… a thing.

Run. Run now.

“Shut up, David,” Tara hissed. She looked pale. Hands shaking. “You’re making it worse.” But then she looked at Lydia—and her whole face cracked. Fear. Guilt. Like she was breaking apart too.

Camille’s head spun. It was too much. Too many people. Too many secrets.

They’re all broken, she thought, eyes blurring again. And I’m right in the middle of this wreck.

Her hands were wet. Shaky. She could barely hold Ellie.

I should hate them. Tara. Lydia. David. Adrian too. But I can’t. Not when she’s scared. Not when he looks like that.

“Camille,” Ellie whispered, eyes big and wet. “Don’t go.”

The words hit her like a goddamn punch to the gut.

Her breath caught. Her eyes stung. She couldn’t say anything. She didn’t deserve that trust. Didn’t deserve her. But God… she wanted to.

So badly.

Selfish. Stupid. Like she was stealing something she had no right to even touch.

“I’m not going,” she said, too fast. Too loud. It cracked out of her like glass. “I said I’d help and I—I will. For her.”

Her voice shook. She hated how it shook. Like it made her a liar. But she meant it. Even if it felt like a lie.

She looked around—Lydia, David, Tara—and her stomach turned. They’re gonna ruin this. They’re gonna—

“You’re serious?” Adrian whispered. Like he didn’t believe her. His hands still shook. He stepped closer, eyes darting all over her face. Like he was begging her to be real. Like she was the only thing he had left.

“You don’t have to—after this—” he choked. He stopped. Just… stopped.

Camille’s chest twisted. Pity. Anger. And something worse. Something deeper.

Don’t want him. You don’t. So stop looking like that.

“Aw, how sweet,” Lydia sneered. “Your little stand-in thinks she’s a hero.”

Her purse swung again. She turned to Tara, eyes cold. “You cool with this? Some stranger playing mommy to your kid?”

Tara didn’t answer.

Her mouth opened. Face twisted. But no words came out.

The bell over the diner door jingled.

Everyone froze.

A man stepped in—suit pressed, expensive, briefcase swinging. Like he’d just walked out of some courtroom into hell.

He didn’t look around.

Just straight to Adrian.

“Dr. Cole,” he said. Calm. Cold. Like ice on the back of your neck. “We need to talk. About custody.”

Everything… stopped.

Camille’s heart slammed once, then held.

Custody?

Now?

The lights buzzed louder. The floor spun. Her lungs tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Adrian looked like he’d just been stabbed.

And Camille realized—

The lie they built?

Yeah.

It was about to blow.

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