Her phone is already half-raised. Every alarm in my head goes off at once.
“No photos,” I say, sharper than I intend.
Maddie’s smile falters. “Uh. Sure. Okay. Sorry. Didn’t mean to?—”
Bella sighs, wiping Lily’s face. “It’s not you,” she says. “We’ve just had…a morning.”
“That so?” Maddie asks, softening again.
“You have no idea,” Bella says.
Maddie hesitates, then brightens. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here. We’ve got stickers. Kids love stickers.” She pulls one from her apron and slides it toward Lily—a cartoon burger with a smile. “No cameras. Promise.”
Lily grabs it like it’s gold. “Buggah!”
Maddie laughs. “Exactly.” She moves to leave, then glances back at Bella. “For what it’s worth, you do look like a family. In a good way.”
Bella’s cheeks flush. “We’re not,” she says quickly.
“Sure,” Maddie replies, unconvinced, then drifts away.
Bella turns on me the second she’s gone. “You didn’t have to bark at her.”
“Phones are risks,” I say. “Pictures are data. Data spreads.”
“This is a burger place, not a spy movie,” she snaps.
“Danger doesn’t care where we’re sitting,” I reply.
She glares. “She just thought we looked nice.”
“That’s the problem,” I mutter.
Bella huffs and goes back to her burger, indignant, tearing off a too-big bite. Lily carefully sticks the smiling burger on my sleeve and giggles.
I look at the sticker, then at Bella’s annoyed profile, then at Lily’s ketchup grin.
Cute little family.
Yeah. That’s not me. That can never be me.
Lily is still playing with the sticker on my sleeve, patting it like it’s a pet. Bella watches her, and for a few minutes something close to normal settles over the table.
She takes another bite of her burger, wipes a smear of ketchup from Lily’s cheek, and there it is—the thing that hits me harder than the gunfire did.
Her smile.
It’s small, tired, but real. The kind she probably gave strangers before all of this, over coffees and deadlines and little everyday problems. It softens her face, rounds the edges of her eyes, makes her look young in a way I haven’t seen in years.
For a heartbeat I can almost imagine this is just…life. A long drive. A bad morning. A roadside stop.
Then the smile fades.
I watch it happen. Her gaze drifts to the window, to the cars on the highway, and I can see the moment reality slides back into place. Her shoulders stiffen. Her jaw tightens. Whatever warmth was there hardens into something more practical.
She takes a long sip of her soda and sets it down with more force than necessary.
“Mama,” Lily announces, wriggling. “Pee.”
