The farmers’ market was too alive.

Noise spilling everywhere — people laughing, kids darting between legs, the smell of ripe citrus fighting with hot taco grease. String lights dangled overhead, flickering gold over the crowd like they were in on some joke she didn’t get.

Camille stood stiff, nails digging into her palm, heart pounding like she’d been running — sharp, uneven, wrong. James’s text burned behind her eyes: Check Ellie’s next playdate.

And worse — his voice on the recorder. That slow, knowing tone: I know you better.

Ellie was safe — she knew that — with the playdate mom, laughing maybe, playing. But her brain kept looping, tripping:...