The diner air was thick—too thick—like breathing through cloth soaked in kerosene. Camille could feel the grease sticking to her skin, mixing with sweat in her armpits, on her neck, behind her knees. The coffee didn’t even smell like coffee anymore—just burnt, stale… wrong. Her fingers wouldn’t let go of the chipped mug. She was gripping it like it had answers. Like maybe if she held it tight enough, she’d stop shaking.
Then—
That voice.
Cold. Sharp.
Like… like a nail dragged against glass.
It sliced through Ellie’s humming, through the soft clinks of forks on plates. It even cut through Camille’s pulse.
“Tara.”
No one said it, but they all knew it. Had to be. The name hit Camille like a slap even though it wasn’t aimed at her. The woman was standing there—still, too still—in a long, too-perfect coat that probably cost more than Camille’s rent. Her heels sounded like hammers on the linoleum. Camille blinked. Her eyes burned. Her brain kept saying, don’t move, don’t breathe.
She looked at Adrian.
He looked like he’d just been socked in the stomach—face pale, lips parted like he forgot how to close them. His hand was halfway to the table. Frozen.
Ellie’s crayon stopped mid-heart.
And then everything just... stilled. The whole diner... like someone sucked the air out.
“Adrian,” Tara said again, quieter this time, but no softer. Her voice had edges. “Who’s this?” Her chin tilted toward Camille, lips curling like she'd just smelled trash.
Camille’s stomach did a full tumble. Her hoodie felt like a sack. Her hair suddenly itched, felt messy—greasy. Her life—everything she was—felt so small under that stare. Like she shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have been.
Adrian finally moved. Barely. His throat bobbed. Jaw clenched so tight Camille could almost hear the crack.
“Tara… What are you doing here?” he asked, voice like gravel, scraping the floor of his chest.
He stood too fast. Chair screeched. Ellie flinched.
Camille flinched too.
He shoved his hands into his pockets but they still trembled. His knuckles pressed against the denim like even his bones were panicking.
“I was in town,” Tara said, her smile fake as sin, dead behind the teeth. “Thought I’d see my daughter.” She glanced at Ellie—just a second—but it was sharp. Then her eyes slashed back to Camille. “But I find you with… her?”
Her. Like Camille wasn’t even a person. Like she was a mess someone forgot to clean up.
Camille’s throat dried up. Her face went hot. She wanted to reply, maybe say back off, or even just hi—but nothing came. Her mind was a scrambled egg, sizzling and confused. The urge to disappear crawled up her spine.
“She’s—she’s a friend,” Adrian said.
Friend?
Camille’s heart tripped.
A friend?
Right. Of course. What else?
Still… it stung. Like walking barefoot and hitting a sharp stone you didn’t see coming. She blinked fast. Her grip on the mug got harder. Knuckles white. Her palms had gone clammy, slick. You’re an idiot, Cam. You’re the extra in their movie. A footnote.
“Friend?” Tara’s laugh was loud, bitter—like rust and old secrets. “Since when do you have friends, Ade? Especially ones who look like they shop outta garbage bins?”
Camille’s cheeks burned. Her stomach turned. That old shame—being poor, foster care, being looked at like you didn’t belong anywhere—came clawing back. She wanted to disappear into the booth. Be invisible again. Anything but this.
“Stop it,” Adrian snapped.
He sounded brittle. Like one wrong word and he’d shatter. He looked at Ellie, who was pressing herself into the seat, eyes wide, too quiet.
“Not here. Not in front of her.”
His voice cracked.
Camille felt her ribs tighten. Adrian wasn’t okay. And she hated herself for still caring.
Tara didn’t even flinch. She crouched next to Ellie like this was a game. “Hey sweetheart,” she said, voice all fake syrup. “Missed you.”
Camille’s hands curled under the table. Her nails dug into her skin. No. No no no. Something about it was wrong. Off. Ellie didn’t even move.
She was still. Eyes blinking fast. Like she couldn’t believe this was real.
“She’s nice,” Ellie said, so softly Camille almost missed it. “Camille. She likes my unicorns.”
That was it. That was all it took. Camille’s breath snagged. Her chest ached. What did she do to deserve that? Nothing. Nothing at all. But she wanted it. God, she wanted it—Ellie’s little voice, that trust. And that made her feel worse. Selfish. Greedy. She wasn't even family. Not even close.
Tara stood. Her eyes sliced again. “Unicorns, huh?” she said. “Cute.”
Cute. Like a curse.
Camille’s heart thudded harder. Loud. Loud enough to drown out her thoughts.
“Tara, enough,” Adrian stepped in between. His voice was steadier but his hands still trembled. “You can’t just show up and—”
He stopped. Like the words died before reaching his lips.
“We had a deal,” he said, finally. “You don’t get to do this.”
His eyes—God. Camille hated what she saw there. Rage. Sadness. Love. Still. All tangled. Like he didn’t know if he wanted Tara gone or back. Camille swallowed. Hard.
And hated herself again—for feeling jealous.
Tara laughed. Cold. “A deal? Like the one you’re making with her?” She waved toward Camille, like Camille was a problem to be erased.
“What is this, Adrian? A replacement? You think she can play house and erase me?”
Camille blinked. Her hands were trembling now. The mug wobbled. Coffee sloshed over the edge. Hot against her fingers. Her vision blurred at the corners.
I’m not a replacement. I’m not…
But she was.
She was.
A rented fantasy. A prop in someone else’s war.
“Camille—” Adrian turned, voice low. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m in,” she said. It came out cracked, too loud, stupid. She didn’t even think. Her mouth just… moved.
Adrian stared at her. Ellie stared. Tara blinked.
Camille stood. Her legs felt made of wet spaghetti. Her backpack slipped off the seat and hit the floor with a thud that sounded like a car crash in her chest.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “For Ellie.”
Her voice shook. She couldn’t stop it.
She looked straight at Tara. Forced herself to. Even though her stomach was twisting and her throat was raw.
“But you—” she sucked in a breath, tried again, louder— “you don’t get to make her feel small.”
Tara’s face froze.
And then… silence.
Heavy. Almost vibrating.
Ellie’s crayon snapped.
The sound was small but sharp. Like a gunshot in that silence.
Ellie gasped. Her big eyes welled up. Camille moved toward her—on instinct. Didn’t even think.
“Mommy?” Ellie whispered.
Her voice was so tiny it barely existed.
And then—
SLAM.
The diner door flew open.
A man’s voice.
Loud. Too loud.
“Tara!”
Camille’s ears rang. Her balance tipped. Everything inside her screamed.
And just like that—
Everything she’d promised?
Everything she thought she could handle?
It started…
to crack.
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