It wasn’t random.
It was always the left side.
Always the same hand behind the same ear.
Always the same head tilt like she was trying to relieve pressure, not “just endure it.”
Naomi had seen it enough times that the pattern stopped being a coincidence in her mind.
She untied her apron.
That tiny motion turned heads.
No one unties their apron mid-shift unless something serious is happening.
Naomi walked toward Victor’s booth carefully — from the front, where Lily could see her.
Because stepping into Victor Reyes’s space without permission was how people got hurt.
Victor looked up.
His expression said: Don’t.
Naomi didn’t flinch.
“I’m sorry,” she said clearly, lips slow so Lily could read them. “But I’ve noticed something about her pain.”
Victor signed bluntly, jaw tight.
“She’s seen more doctors than you’ve served breakfasts.”
Naomi nodded once.
“I know. But the pain is always on the same side. And the way she tilts her head… it looks like she’s trying to relieve pressure.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
Hope and anger are close cousins.
“If you’re wrong,” his stare said, “this ends badly.”
Naomi swallowed.
“Let me look. Ten seconds. If I’m wrong, I walk away and never bring it up again.”
The diner held its breath.
After a long moment, Victor nodded once.
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