The diner smelled like burnt coffee and bacon grease.
Mark hadn't been back to town in three years, but the place hadn't changed: same cracked vinyl booths, same waitress with the smoker's rasp. He sat in the corner, nursing a mug, staring at the door like a man waiting for a ghost.
She walked in at 7:12 p.m.
Lila.
Older, thinner, hair shorter, but still her. She wore a denim jacket over a sundress, one hand holding a little boy's. He was three, maybe four, dark curls, Mark's nose. The boy tugged at her hand, pointing at the pie case.
"Mommy, the one with cherries!"
Lila's laugh was tired but real. She lifted him onto a stool, ordered two slices. Then her eyes swept the room—and stopped on Mark.
The air left her lungs.
Mark stood slowly. The boy looked up, curious. "Mommy, who's that?"
Lila's hand tightened on his shoulder. "An old friend, baby."
Mark crossed the floor, boots loud on the linoleum. Up close, she had faint lines at her eyes, a small scar on her collarbone he didn't remember. She smelled like vanilla and playground dust.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi." Her voice cracked.
The boy shoved a bite of pie in his mouth, oblivious. "I'm Jake," he announced. "I'm four next month."
Mark's throat closed. "Hey, Jake."
Lila's eyes filled. "He's… Tommy's on paper. But you knew that."
Mark nodded. "You okay?"
She shrugged. "We're surviving. Tommy's sober now. Works construction. We've got a little house. It's not perfect, but it's… stable." A pause. "Sarah moved to Denver. She doesn't speak to me."
"I know." Mark's voice was rough. "I see her on Instagram. New guy. Dog. Looks happy."
Lila's smile was small, sad. "Good. She deserves it."
Jake tugged her sleeve. "Mommy, can we go to the park after?"
"In a minute, baby." She ruffled his curls, then looked at Mark. "You in town long?"
"Just tonight. Job interview tomorrow. Thought I'd… drive through."
She nodded. "You look good."
"You too."
Silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid.
Jake slid off the stool, pie abandoned. "Park *now*, Mommy."
Lila stood. "We should go."
Mark reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My number. If you ever… need anything. For him. For you."
She took it, fingers brushing his. "Thank you."
At the door, she paused. Jake was already outside, pressing his face to the glass. Lila turned back.
"I named him Jacob," she said quietly. "After your dad."
Mark's eyes burned. "He'd have liked that."
She smiled—real this time, soft—and walked out. The bell above the door jingled. Through the window, he watched her lift Jake into a beat-up sedan, buckle him in, wave once. Then they were gone.
Mark sat back down, ordered another coffee he wouldn't drink. The paper with his number was gone, tucked into her pocket.
He stared at the empty stool where his son had sat, cherry pie smeared on the plate like a heartbeat.
Some fires never go out.
They just burn quieter.
---
**The End**
*(for real this time)*