Now, she looked like a ghost haunting the neon-lit purgatory of a Wednesday afternoon mall. Her hair, usually a glossy chestnut curtain, was pulled back in a messy bun that hadn’t seen a brush in days. Her skin was the color of parchment.

“Sweetheart?”

The word stuck in my throat, scratching like broken glass. I walked up to the table, my shadow falling over her meager pile of coins.

Sophia flinched. It wasn’t a start of surprise; it was the physical recoil of a frightened animal. She looked up, and the devastation in her eyes nearly brought me to my knees. The dark circles were bruises against her pale skin.

“Mom?” She tried to smile, but her lip trembled, ruining the illusion. She swept the coins into her palm, hiding them. “What are you doing here?”

“I was meeting a client,” I lied smoothly. I had been retired for three years, but old habits of evasion were useful now. I slid into the plastic chair opposite her. “Where’s Emma? It’s Wednesday. Isn’t she usually with you on your day off?”