Every drop of warmth drained from my body. The room tilted, my vision swimming, and I nearly collapsed right there on the floor.

Only then did Reginald notice me. A flash of panic crossed his eyes before he forced his expression into something casual.

"What are you doing here? Don't you have the cart to run today?"

Before I could speak, Fiona slid off his lap.

She acted like she didn't recognize me, sticking out her tongue in a cutesy little apology.

"Sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize you knew Reggie. I thought you were a waitress."

Reginald frowned and instinctively turned to me. "That's just how Fiona is. She says whatever's on her mind. She doesn't mean anything by it."

"Don't take it personally."

The same people who'd been tearing me apart seconds ago burst into jeering laughter.

"Oh, the second the main girl walks in, Reggie can't help himself—already jumping to her defense!"

"Like that old hag would dare take it personally? Calling her ma'am is generous. She looks more like a grandma!"

"Who cares about her? She's useless to Reggie now anyway. Come on, raise your glasses—here's to Reggie finally shaking off that secondhand woman and her little bastard kid!"

Each word hit like a fist to the skull. I drew in a long, shaking breath.

While they were still gaping, I closed the distance in two strides.

I swung with everything I had and slapped the man so hard his head snapped to the side.

"Keep my daughter's name out of your filthy mouth. Call her that one more time, and I will rip your jaw off."

Outside the bar, the night air hit my face like cold water.

That was when I realized my whole body was shaking.

My hand found the thin card in my pocket and squeezed. The paper edge bit into my palm, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

It was the invitation Moira had made by hand.

Three stick figures drawn in crayon, holding hands in a row. Like a real family.

But the one labeled with Reginald's name was smeared now, blurred beyond recognition by the blood seeping from my palm.

For a moment I just stood there, numb, before the tears caught up to me.

The wind dried them on my cheeks. My skin pulled tight, stinging.

I'd met Reginald at the lowest point of my life.

I was fighting Alvin in a brutal divorce, left the marriage with nothing, scrambling to keep my head above water. At the same time, I'd dusted off my parents' old trade and started selling breakfast burritos from a street cart—anything to cover Moira's tuition and keep food on the table.

The very first morning I set out, the cart's tire blew on the way there.

I crouched on the curb for what felt like forever, hands black with grease, and the tire stayed flat.

But if I didn't set up that day, Moira and I wouldn't eat.

Then I heard her stomach growl. She pressed her little hand against it and whispered, "I'm not hungry, Mommy. My tummy's just being weird."

That broke me. I dropped to the ground right there on the sidewalk and sobbed, smearing grease across my face when I tried to wipe the tears.

That was when Reginald appeared.

He ran three blocks to borrow a pump, then got down on his hands and knees to inflate the tire. Black grease smeared across his white T-shirt, and he didn't care. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and grinned up at me. "All set. Give it a try."

He pushed the cart all the way to the night market and didn't leave until the stand was set up.

After that, he started showing up every day with a handful of friends, claiming they were there to drum up business. When they teased him about having a crush on me, I laughed it off as a joke. But his ears turned red all the way down to his neck.

"Would that… would that be okay?" he stammered.

Moira wanted nothing to do with him at first. She wouldn't even give him a second word.

One afternoon I was swamped at the cart and missed the call that school had let out early. It was Reginald who sprinted through the pouring rain, searching more than a dozen streets until he found my lost little girl.

After that, Moira finally let him in.

And now I had to tell her the truth—tell a child who'd only just begun to trust again that none of it was real.

I stumbled back to the apartment in a daze. It was already the dead of night.

My daughter had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for me to come home.

My heart ached so badly it nearly crumbled. I was about to carry her back to her room when I realized her whole body was burning up, her little face flushed scarlet with fever.

I rushed her to the hospital by cab. It wasn't until the next morning that her temperature finally started to come down.

The doctor fixed me with a stern look. "This child had a fever for half the night before you thought to bring her in. A few more hours and she would've been severely dehydrated. Pills wouldn't have fixed that."

Guilt and fear gnawed at me. I hadn't slept all night and didn't dare close my eyes, staying glued to the chair beside her hospital bed.

Then I remembered the phone watch I'd bought her. I opened the companion app and checked the call log.

Over a dozen missed calls.

Every single one to Reginald.

He was the one who'd insisted on being listed as her emergency contact. He'd looked me in the eye and sworn, "I'll always be there for Moira. You can count on me."

And this was what that promise was worth.

A friend request notification popped up on my phone. No message attached. I recognized the sender from her latest Instagram story.

Fiona.

She'd posted a live photo of herself pouting, pressing a kiss to Reginald's cheek. In the background, clothes were scattered across the floor beside a sheet stained with smudges and water marks. When I tapped the photo, her coy, breathy voice filled my ears.

"Your phone's been ringing nonstop since we started. You're really not going to answer?"

Reginald's voice came through low and husky. "Nothing in the world is more important than you."

My vision went black. I couldn't bear to imagine it—every ring of every call my daughter made had been nothing but background music to their little performance.

Reginald didn't show up until that afternoon, dragging Fiona along with him.

He looked frantic. His voice dripped with guilt.

"How's Moira? This is all my fault. My phone was off last night—I never got the calls."

"You've been up all night. You must be exhausted. Go get some rest. Fiona and I can watch her."

But whether he truly never got those calls or chose to ignore them—I knew the answer better than he did.

My daughter was my bottom line.

I looked at Reginald, and whatever softness he'd managed to coax out of me was gone. Every wall snapped back into place, every thorn pointed outward. My voice came out cold as steel.

"No need. My daughter is mine to take care of."

"We're done."

I've always been a woman of my word.

When I said it was over with Reginald, I meant it. I blocked his number, his social media—every way he had of reaching me.

He resorted to showing up at my cart to buy breakfast burritos just to get a chance to talk.

The morning crowd pressed in on all sides. He opened his mouth, struggled, his face reddening.

"Fiona and I—it's not what you think."

I didn't look up. I finished making his order and held it out to him.

"What does that have to do with me?"

He stood there, frozen, for several seconds.

The color drained from his face, then flooded back in a mottled, livid flush. He never came to the cart again.

Instead, he paraded around campus with Fiona on his arm for all to see.

Everyone said I'd been dumped—that the secondhand goods had finally been thrown away. And because I was a divorced single mother who happened to be pretty, every creep in the area suddenly thought I was fair game.

One morning, a heavyset man with a bloated face leaned over the counter, pretending to buy a burrito. His thick fingers reached out and stroked the back of my hand.

I slapped his hand away. My expression turned to ice.

"If you're not here to buy food, move."

My voice carried. Every head in the crowd turned.

The man's face swelled an ugly shade of purple, humiliated in front of everyone.

"Stuck-up bitch. Someone offers you a little attention and you spit in their face?"

"You're damaged goods that's already been passed around. What's the big deal if I cop a feel?"

He grabbed the edge of my cart and flipped it.

The crash of metal slamming into pavement exploded in my ears. The scalding griddle smashed against my forearm.

White-hot pain shot through me, instant and blinding, like the skin was being ripped clean off the bone.

The crowd kept growing, every last one of them gawking and whispering about me.

The fat-faced thug's insults grew louder, more vicious, flecks of his spit landing on my face.

"Didn't Reginald used to chase after you? Treated you like a princess, put you on a pedestal? So what happened? He got tired of you already?"

"Bet he slept with you once and realized a woman who's already popped out a kid can't compete with a tight young thing, huh?"

"Who knows, maybe the real reason you divorced your ex-husband is because you were sleeping around. That brat of yours is probably some other man's bastard!"

Every word filthier than the last.

A ringing filled my ears. Everything went red.

By the time I came back to myself, the spatula had already swung in a full arc and cracked across his mouth.

Once.

Twice.

A patrol officer rushed over and pulled me off him, hauling both of us down to the station.

The thug's lips were split and swollen, blood running down his chin. Two of his front teeth were gone.

The female officer handling my statement was sympathetic, but she could only do her job.

"Ms. Walker, the other party's injuries have been classified as minor assault, and he's refusing to sign a settlement agreement."

"You're looking at five days of detention and a five-hundred-dollar fine."

Five days?

But Moira's school sports day was in three days.

She already didn't have a father by her side. I couldn't be absent too.

I drew a deep breath and started dialing the number I once knew by heart.

The door swung open before the call connected.

I hung up. Reginald hurried in.

When he saw me sitting on the bench in one piece, the tension drained from his shoulders.

"I'll post her bail. I'm covering the deposit."

Outside the station, I thanked him properly.

"Thank you. I'll transfer the deposit back to you as soon as I get home."

Reginald looked at me, speechless for a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

"Your arm needs to be treated too. Let me take you to the hospital first."

The words had barely left his mouth when his phone rang.

Fiona's voice came through, teary and sweet, dripping with helplessness.

"Reggie, my little nephew got bullied at school."

"His parents are out of town on business. Can you come stand up for us? Please?"

Just like that, Reginald forgot about me and my blood-soaked arm. He jumped in his car and sped off.

The exhaust fumes hit me so hard I couldn't stop coughing.

I pulled my gaze back in silence, figuring I'd find a pharmacy for some burn cream and bandages.

My phone rang.

The teacher's voice on the other end was stern.

"Is this Moira Walker's parent?"

"Moira's been involved in an incident at school. We need you to come in."

I didn't even have time to treat my wound. I rushed straight to the school.

When I pushed open the office door, my daughter was standing alone in the corner.

Across from her, a little boy was being cradled like a treasure, shielded on all sides.

He poked his head out and spat at my daughter, pulling a face.

"Nyeh nyeh nyeh, you don't have a daddy! You're a bastard!"

"Your mom's a used-up tramp nobody wants, and when you grow up, you'll be a little tramp too!"

The air left my lungs. I pulled Moira into my arms and pressed my hands over her ears.

I was about to ask what kind of parents raised a child to talk like that.

Then I looked up and met Reginald's eyes.

The expression on his face was complicated.

That was when I saw clearly who was shielding that little boy.

It wasn't strangers.

It was Reginald and Fiona.

Fiona pulled the boy closer, her voice trembling with practiced grievance.

"Hailey, if you resent me for accidentally calling you 'ma'am' that one time, or for stealing Reggie away from you, I'll apologize. Go ahead, hit me, yell at me, I can take it."

"But if you're angry, come at me. How could you put your own daughter up to attacking my nephew?"