The diner reeked of burnt toast and that knockoff syrup they called "maple"—the kind that clung to your hair, your clothes, your skin like guilt. Camille hunched in a red vinyl booth that squeaked every time she moved, her back to the wall, her knees pressed tight together like she could fold herself smaller. Hide. Her backpack was jammed beneath the table, like if she stuffed it far enough under, the rest of her problems might disappear too.
Her coffee was cold. Mug chipped at the lip. She kept tapping it. Tap. Tap. Her fingers were clammy. Kept slipping.
What the hell was she doing here?
She hadn’t even slept right. Just paced Mia’s apartment half the night, arguing with herself in the dark, whispering maybe it’s a setup, maybe he’s a creep, maybe you’re desperate enough not to care. Maybe all three.
The bell above the door jangled and it was too loud—a sharp metal ping that hit the base of her skull. Camille flinched so hard her elbow knocked the table.
Adrian walked in.
Ellie was right behind him, her hand wrapped in his like a knot that wouldn’t come undone. His face looked... worse today. Tighter. Carved out of granite. Like sleep was a thing he used to know but gave up on.
His eyes scanned the room—fast, sharp, like he expected someone to jump out of the kitchen with a knife.
Ellie’s sneakers made that soft scuff-scuff on the floor, her little ponytail bouncing, a glittery unicorn sticker stuck sideways on her jacket like she’d put it there herself and didn’t care it was crooked.
Camille’s chest clenched. That twisty, awful thing it did. Don’t.
You’re not her mom. You’re no one.
But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Her throat tightened like it had to fight her just to breathe.
Adrian spotted her.
Paused.
Just for a second, but she saw it—hesitation. Doubt. Like he was calculating all the ways this could blow up.
Ellie tugged his hand. Whispered something.
He nodded. Jaw clenched like steel.
He slid into the booth across from her.
“You came,” he said. Voice low. Rough, like maybe he'd been yelling or crying or both.
Camille faked a shrug. “Yeah, well... wasn’t like I had better plans.”
Lie. Mia’s last text was still burning a hole in her pocket.
Rent. Cam. Today. Or you’re out.
She faked a smile too—crooked and wrong. It didn’t even reach her own teeth. “So… the favor?” Her voice cracked. “You said you’d pay, but like... what’s the actual deal?”
Ellie climbed in beside him, like she belonged there. Like this was normal.
She dumped a handful of crayons on the table, one rolled toward Camille. Red again. Always red.
Camille caught it before it fell. Passed it back.
Ellie smiled—shy, crooked, small.
It punched her in the gut.
Camille looked away fast, blinking too hard. Her cheeks burned.
Don’t get attached, dumbass. She’s not yours. This isn’t your life.
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. Left red streaks there.
His knee bounced. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t breathe, maybe.
“It’s... complicated,” he started, eyes flicking toward Ellie, like she might understand too much. “Her school’s got this... thing. Family Day. Next week.”
Camille stared.
“And her mom,” he said, voice tightening, eyes going sharp, “isn’t coming. Hasn’t for a long time. She’s not... she’s not part of it anymore.”
The air shifted. Colder. Heavier.
Camille felt it in her bones.
That kind of absence? Yeah. She knew it. Knew it too well.
She’d lived it. Slept next to it. Woke up to it in beds that didn’t belong to her.
Her chest went tight. Nails digging into her palms. “So what—you want what, exactly?” Her voice came out flat. Too sharp. She regretted it the second it landed.
Adrian flinched.
And she saw it. Not anger. Not defensiveness.
Just... raw.
“I need someone to pretend,” he said. Fast. Desperate. “To be her mom. Just for the school. Just for a few events. That’s it.”
His hands disappeared under the table. Probably shaking.
“I’ll pay you,” he added. “A thousand. For the month.”
Camille stopped breathing.
Like—literally. Stopped.
A thousand?
Her chest ached. Her eyes burned. She wiped her hands on her jeans, but they were still slick. “Pretend to be her mom?” she said too loud, her voice breaking. A waitress glanced over. Camille dropped her voice and looked down. “You serious? Like lie? To the school? To her?”
She nodded at Ellie. The kid was humming to herself now. Coloring a heart that looked like it was melting.
Adrian blinked fast, like her words slapped him. “Not to her,” he said. “She’d know it’s pretend. I’d... I’d explain it. I just—”
He looked away.
Swallowed.
When he spoke again, his voice was different. Cracked. Small. “The other moms, they talk. Ellie hears it. The pity. The judgment. She told me yesterday—she said maybe if she drew more unicorns, her mom would come.”
Camille couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Her whole body felt too full of heat. Her vision blurred, just for a second.
“I can’t let her feel like that again,” Adrian whispered.
It wasn’t begging. But it was close.
Camille swallowed. Hard.
She wanted to say yes. Needed to. The money would buy her a whole month of not drowning.
But it felt... wrong. Like she was putting on someone else’s skin. Pretending to be something she’d never had, never could be.
Still—Ellie was right there. Humming. Smiling.
Camille’s voice shook. “Okay,” she said. “But just the school stuff, yeah? No weird... couple crap.”
Her face flushed. Instantly.
Why’d you say that out loud, idiot?
Adrian huffed a laugh. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just school. I promise.”
But he looked unsure too. Like they were both diving into something murky and cold and way too deep.
Ellie looked up, eyes bright.
“Camille’s coming to Family Day?” she asked.
That voice.
So much hope. Like this was the best thing she’d heard all week.
Camille’s chest clenched. Again. God, she couldn’t take much more of this.
She opened her mouth—but nothing came out.
Then—
Jingle.
The diner door opened.
The sound was sharp. Final.
Camille turned.
A woman walked in. Tall. Blonde. High heels and fury wrapped in a designer coat.
The air changed. Froze.
Adrian’s whole body tensed. Color drained from his face.
Camille’s pulse spiked. Loud in her ears. Deafening.
The woman’s eyes landed on them—on Adrian, on Ellie, on Camille.
She didn’t flinch.
She smiled.
But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind that said: I know exactly how to ruin you.
“Adrian,” she said. Voice cold. Smooth. Deadly. “What the hell is this?”
Camille couldn’t breathe.
She knew that tone. She’d heard it before. From caseworkers. From bitter foster moms. From people who looked at her like she was a problem, not a person.
Adrian looked like he’d just been cracked wide open.
And suddenly—everything felt very, very real.
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