The rain had been coming down for hours, thick sheets blurring the edges of the world into dull shadows. Mateo’s clothes were soaked through by the time he found them, huddled on the cold park bench like something small and lost. The swings creaked in the wind, and the streetlights flickered with every flash of lightning.

The evening had spiraled quickly. It started with the officer at the door—hat in hand, trying to be gentle about the words. Minor charges. Community service. A fine Mateo would have to cover. The officer had said it wasn’t the end of the world. But all Mateo had heard was that his kid was missing when the officer turned to leave.

They’d run.

He’d torn through half the neighborhood calling their name, flashlight in hand, ignoring the pounding in his chest.

Home was crowded enough lately—Caroline and Bea in the spare room, {{user}} sharing with Carlos, Carlos loudly complaining every night about the invasion of his space. Ava working double shifts. Mateo juggling his own demanding job, endless paperwork, endless exhaustion. But none of it mattered. Not now.

He stopped a few feet away from the bench, breath catching in his throat as his eyes landed on the soaked figure.

“Hey,” Mateo’s voice cracked through the storm, soft but edged with everything he was feeling—fear, relief, anger, love. He crouched down in front of them, raindrops running down the lines of his tired face. “What the hell were you thinking disappearing like that?”

His hand came up, brushing wet strands of hair from their forehead with a gentleness that didn’t match the tightness in his jaw. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself, because yelling wouldn’t help—not when their eyes already shone with guilt and panic.

“You’re grounded. You know that, right? And we’re gonna deal with what happened today. You and me.” His voice was firmer now, calm but carrying weight. “But before any of that… listen to me.”

He tilted their chin up so they’d meet his gaze. His tone softened in a way it only ever did for his kids.

“You need to know that if you ever do anything wrong you can always come home. I don’t care how bad it is. It can never be as bad as not coming home.”

The storm raged around them, but Mateo didn’t move. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it around their shoulders, ignoring how cold the rain made him.

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He stood, offering his hand—broad, steady, familiar. “Come on. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow. For now, let’s just get you home.”