Lila’s P.O.V
The playground felt smaller this afternoon, the rusty slide and chipped benches suddenly too exposed under the late-winter sun. Lucian arrived right on time, paper bags crinkling as he knelt to greet the kids with dinosaur cookies and juice pouches. Shayla barreled into his legs first, Lucas right behind, Aiden reaching from my arms with sticky fingers. He laughed—quiet, warm—and let them climb him like a tree.
We sat on the bench afterward, shoulders almost touching. The kids ran to the swings while we watched in comfortable silence. My phone stayed quiet in my pocket for once. No urgent texts from Diane. No spam. Just the ordinary sounds of children laughing and chains creaking.
Then the whispers started.
Not loud. Not directed at us. But close enough.
Two moms near the
