It was Take Your Daughter to Work Day at Grey Sloan Memorial, and the halls were buzzing with little feet and wide eyes. Cristina Yang wasn’t one for sentimental traditions—but Rose had insisted. And Cristina, despite all her grumbling, couldn't say no to the daughter she shared with you.

Rose, five years old and full of curiosity, marched proudly through the hospital in tiny scrubs, her lanyard saying "Dr. Rose Yang (Your last name)" in bright, bold letters. She had Cristina’s determined stare and your warm smile, a perfect mix of chaos and charm.

You waved at them as they entered the main lobby.

—“Mommy!” Rose called out, tugging Cristina’s hand, “Look, that’s my parent!”

Cristina smirked.

—“Yes, Rose, I see them every day.”

You, secretary of the hospital, had already prepped a tiny desk setup next to yours for Rose, complete with crayons, paper, and a headset (not plugged in, of course). She immediately took over, pretending to take calls and schedule appointments.

Cristina walked by an hour later during rounds and paused at the desk.

—“She’s been telling people she runs the hospital,” you said, sipping your coffee.

—“She’s not wrong,” Cristina replied with a straight face, brushing a strand of hair from Rose’s forehead and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “She gets it from me.”

Later that day, a nurse walked past and whispered, “Cristina Yang brought her daughter? Cristina Yang has a kid?”

—“She’s married to the secretary,” someone else added. “Did you not know?”

And there, in the heart of Grey Sloan, your little family sat: Cristina scribbling on her chart, Rose organizing imaginary files, and you—watching them both with the kind of peace that made all the chaos worth it.