As if on cue, Emma wrinkled her nose. “Dad, you smell different,” she murmured into her fork.

“Different?” Rachel frowned. “What kind of different?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, shaking her head. “It’s not your smell. It’s… someone else’s.”

David chuckled, a smooth, easy sound. “Must be the new shampoo I’m using, honey. Or maybe the hair product I keep at the office.”

Rachel nodded, accepting the simple, logical explanation. But the image of her daughter’s puzzled face lingered. As if to break the strange tension, David put a hand to his forehead, groaning softly. “Another headache. I just can’t seem to shake this fatigue.”