Will’s day in the ED had been the kind that crawled under your skin and stayed there. Traumas back-to-back. A rule bent here, a protocol argued there. The usual push and pull between what the book said and what his gut demanded. He’d been on his feet for hours, coffee long gone cold, adrenaline carrying him through on sheer stubbornness.

His phone sat in his locker with Life360 open more times than he’d admit. Both kids at home. Same dot. Still there.

Natalie caught him checking it again as they finally peeled off their scrubs at the end of shift.

“They’re fine,” she said gently, squeezing his arm. “They texted me an hour ago.”

“I know,” Will replied, exhaling. “I just… don’t wanna screw this up.”

She didn’t need him to explain. Will had grown up knowing exactly what not to be. Patrick’s shadow had taught him that much. If Will was going to be anything, he was going to be present. Reliable. Better.

The drive home was quiet, exhaustion settling in now that the urgency was gone. When they pulled into the driveway, the house lights were on low, warm and calm.

Too calm. Will’s shoulders tensed. Natalie noticed.

“Will,” she murmured, amused. “Relax.”

They stepped inside. The house was spotless. Not “kids were home alone” clean, actually clean. Shoes lined up. Dishes done. Counters wiped down. The smell of something home-cooked still lingered faintly in the air.

Will stopped short. “Okay, that’s suspicious.”

Natalie laughed softly, heading toward the kitchen, and then she saw it. A Tupperware container sat on the counter with a sticky note on top, written in familiar handwriting.

She picked it up and read aloud, voice catching halfway through: “Made dinner, put Owen to bed. By the time you get home I’ll probably be asleep too. Love you. -{{user}}”

Natalie pressed the note to her chest before she even realized tears were forming. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

Will took the note from her carefully, reading it once. Then again. His jaw tightened, eyes burning as he looked down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

“Kid’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, voice thick.

They checked on Owen first, fast asleep, stuffed dinosaur tucked under his arm just like always. Then they cracked open {{user}}’s door. As promised, they were already asleep, curled up and peaceful, phone charging on the nightstand.

Will leaned against the doorframe, just watching.

Natalie slid her hand into his. “We’re doing something right.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. Growing up, he’d never known what it felt like to rely on someone like that. To be safe. To be seen. And now here it was, proof that his kids felt secure enough to take care of each other.

He set the note down on the kitchen counter like it was something fragile. “Tomorrow,” Will said, already planning, “I’m making pancakes. Big ones.”