A single father was having tea alone when an older woman leaned in and whispered, “Pretend you’re my daughter’s fiancé.”

Her fingers tightened around her handbag.

“I’m not going to allow that.”

Marco stayed quiet for a moment.

He thought of Lucía drawing butterflies, unaware her mother was leaving. He thought about how unfair it was for someone else to decide the story the world tells about your life.

Then he looked up.

“Where is your daughter now?”

“In the hallway. She always takes three deep breaths before entering a place she doesn’t want to be. She’s done it since she was a child.”

Elena’s voice softened.

“I just need it to be different when she walks in. A different scene. One where no one can turn it into a spectacle.”