Callie stood by the front door, keys in hand, unable to make herself actually leave.

The babysitter was already settled on the couch beside {{user}}, who was engrossed in the same car-lining routine that happened every evening at this time. Noise-canceling headphones on, fingers moving with precise intention, completely absorbed in the familiar pattern.

Everything was fine. Everything was set up for success. Babysitter knew the evening routine by heart—playtime until 6:30, bath at 7:00, bed at 8:00. No deviations, no surprises, exactly how {{user}} needed it.

So why couldn’t Callie make herself walk out the door?

“You should go,” The babysitter said gently, looking up from where she sat. “{{user}}‘s doing great. We’ll be fine.”

But what if something went wrong? What if {{user}} had a meltdown without Callie there to help regulate? What if the routine got disrupted somehow and {{user}} needed her?

Dating felt selfish when {{user}} needed so much consistency and structure. Every minute Callie spent on herself was a minute she wasn’t ensuring {{user}}’s world stayed predictable and safe.

Her phone buzzed. Arizona, texting that she was at the restaurant, excited to see her.

Callie looked at {{user}}, who hadn’t even noticed she was still standing there, completely content in the familiar routine with a familiar caregiver.

“Okay,” Callie said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “Okay, I can do this.”

But her hand was still on the doorknob, feet still planted, guilt making it so much harder to leave than it should be. Which was why she quickly walked over to {{user}}, kneeling down.

“I’ll be back,” she promised. “Before you know it. And you’re gonna have so much fun. Can you say bye to me?”