Lila’s POV

  

   “Mom, can you turn the AC up a little? It’s like a fucking oven back here.”

  

   I said it louder than I meant to, mostly because the words felt safer than admitting the real reason my skin was burning. 

  

   Mom twisted in the passenger seat, flashing that bright, oblivious mom-smile.

  

    “Language, baby girl. And no, the AC’s already maxed.” She laughed like it was the funniest thing, then cranked the radio even higher—some old artist track thumping through the speakers so loud the bass rattled my teeth.

  

   Dad just chuckled and kept his eyes on the road. “We are almost home, kids. Just gotta survive these damn potholes.”

  

   ...