I dressed Eli in a clean navy button-down and dark jeans. He stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the collar like it was strangling him. His shoulders stayed tense, pulled slightly inward the way they did when he was overstimulated or anxious.
“I don’t like cameras,” he said. No whining. No pleading. Just a quiet statement of fact.
“I know,” I said gently, smoothing his hair down even though he would mess it up again within minutes. “Just smile once. Then we come upstairs. You can watch trains all afternoon. No interruptions.”
He studied my face through the mirror reflection, searching for something I couldn’t give him.
“Why do we have to do this?” he asked.
“Because…” I hesitated, the lie already sour in my mouth. “People want to see that we’re okay.”
He didn’t even blink.
“We’re not okay,” he said.
My throat tightened so hard it hurt to swallow.
“I know,” I whispered.
.....
The courtyard had been transformed into something that looked like it belonged in a glossy magazine spread instead of someone’s backyard.
White backdrop panels framed with climbing ivy. Oversized potted palms placed strategically to soften camera angles. A long farmhouse table decorated with fake coffee cups, untouched croissants, pastel macarons that looked too perfect to be eaten by actual humans. There were throw blankets draped over chairs, carefully wrinkled to look natural.
It smelled like hairspray and sunscreen.
Assistants moved like choreographed birds, adjusting reflectors, testing lighting, murmuring over camera lenses. The photographer wore all black like he was attending a funeral for authenticity. Ron paced with his phone glued to his ear, barking orders in clipped bursts.
“This is damage control,” I overheard him say. “We need soft. Domestic. Redemption narrative.”
Cal arrived twenty minutes late.
Hoodie pulled up. Sunglasses still on despite the shade. He smelled faintly like last night’s whiskey layered under expensive cologne and something floral that definitely wasn’t mine.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t acknowledge Eli standing beside me gripping the hem of his sleeve.
He just nodded once toward Ron.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The photographer clapped his hands, stepping forward with artificial enthusiasm.
“Perfect! Okay, Cal, arm around Hadley’s waist. Hadley, hand on his chest. Eli, step just behind them, big natural smiles, guys! This is a family announcement, so we want warmth!”
Family announcement.
The words echoed unpleasantly in my chest.
Cal’s arm settled around my waist. Stiff. Mechanical. But his palm pressed against the small of my back, and despite knowing it meant nothing, my body reacted before my brain could catch up. Heat bloomed there, traitorous and unwanted, a ghost of intimacy we had never truly built.
I placed my hand on his chest like instructed.
His heartbeat was steady. Slow. Controlled.
The photographer began snapping photos rapidly.
