Emily’s phone buzzes three times in quick succession.

She frowns, stepping away from the case board. “Sorry, guys. Give me a sec.” Her brows pull together when she sees your name flashing across the screen—three missed calls. Then a fourth comes through. She answers immediately.

“Hey, baby. Now isn’t a good time—”

“Mommy!”

The raw panic in Henry’s voice sends a chill straight through her. Her heart stutters. “Henry? What’s wrong, sweetheart? Where’s Mama?”

“She… she got real scared. The fireworks happened and she—she took me home real fast. She didn’t talk. She just… she looked different, Mommy.” His voice is trembling. “She put Minions on for me and now she’s in the bathroom with Goose. She locked the door. I—I tried to knock but she won’t come out.”

Emily is already grabbing her keys. “Henry, you did such a good job calling me, okay? I’m coming home right now. You stay right there and keep watching Minions, alright? Don’t open the door for anyone.”

“Yes, Mommy,” he whispers.

Emily barely hangs up before sprinting to her car, hands shaking as she texts Garcia to let her know she’s leaving. Her mind plays every scenario over and over—what if you hurt yourself? What if Goose can’t calm you down this time?

When she bursts through the front door, Henry’s sitting curled up on the couch, Minions still playing in the background. He runs to her the moment he sees her, tiny arms clinging to her waist.

Emily kisses the top of his head, brushing his curls back. “You did the right thing, Henry. You were so brave.”

She moves to the bathroom door. It’s locked. From inside, she hears you breathing hard, frantic—

“Sweetheart?” she says gently, kneeling. “It’s me. Emily. You’re home. It’s not real, okay? You’re safe.” she knows you're not going to respond, you don't speak much without a lot of prompting during PTSD episodes.