Ellen Hartley kept the family's game rules taped to the van's dashboard, seven of them, written in her own hand. Rule one mattered most: scary means you don't know yet, cruel means somebody's already hurt. That rule kept their road-trip game safe. But Paul had a new story, and it broke it. "The stickman dad left them," Paul said from the back seat. He pointed at a van ahead. Its rear window showed four stickers, but the biggest one was scratched off. "He got mad and drove off a cliff. On purpose." Stacey laughed and leaned toward her brother. "Do it again. Make the mom cry." Ellen watched the road, but her chest went tight. This wasn't their game. Their game guessed happy secrets. "That crosses the line," she said. "It's just scary," Paul said. "You always say scary's fine." That was the trap. She'd said scary was fine a hundred times. Now the kids wanted to drive a stickman off a cliff and call it scary. If she couldn't show them the difference, they'd stop listening. The game she'd built would rot. Mitch glanced over from the driver's seat. He wore his green flannel, one hand loose on the wheel. "You want me to pull over?" he asked quietly. He always backed her up, but he waited for her to lead this one. The game was hers. "No," Ellen said. "Keep driving." She turned around to face both kids. "Paul. That scratched-off sticker. Who's missing?" Paul shrugged. "The dad." "Right. We don't know why. Maybe he's on a work trip. Maybe he passed away. We don't know yet." She tapped the window. "That's scary. Not knowing." Stacey frowned. "So what's the mean one?" "Cruel is when we make up hurt for fun," Ellen said. "When you say the mom cries and you laugh. That's not guessing. That's using a made-up family to feel big." She looked at Paul. "How would you feel if a kid saw our stickers and said your dad drove off a cliff?" Paul went quiet. His face fell. "Bad," he said. "I'd feel bad." "That's the line," Ellen said. "Scary asks a question. Cruel makes somebody the joke." Stacey chewed her lip. Then she pointed at the van's smallest sticker, a tiny stickman child. "Okay. New story. The little one scratched the dad off by mistake with a rock. Now he's scared to tell." Ellen felt her shoulders drop. That was scary. Nobody was the joke. "Yes," she said. "That's the game." Paul sat up. "And the mom finds the rock in his pocket. But she's not mad. She just hugs him." Mitch grinned into the mirror. Ellen turned back to the road. The kids traded soft guesses now, kind ones. She'd held the line. But she saw the new problem coming. Paul now guessed families in trouble, not families with secrets. Sooner or later, one guess would hit too close to their own.