She found a spot near the window—mismatched armchair, duct tape over a tear in the cushion. Josie was already fussing, that little crease forming between her brows that meant the next five minutes were a ticking clock.

She shifted the baby to her other arm. Pulled out the textbook. Juggled.

Across the room, the door swung open hard enough to bang against the wall.

A group of them spilled in. Tall. Loud. The kind of loud that made people look up and then look away, because you could tell just by looking they were the type who owned whatever room they walked into.

The one in front was laughing at something, head tipped back, dark hair falling into his eyes.

He caught the arm of a chair to steady himself, still grinning, and then his gaze slid across the room.

Landed on her.

Landed on the baby.

His smile faltered. Just for a second. Like something had hit him in the chest.

<Narrator>: She glanced up, felt his stare, and her expression shuttered like a door slamming shut.