Caitlyn drives in silence, posture rigid, her concern never leaving her face. Vi sits beside her, one arm draped lazily over the seat, the other reaching back now and then to brush your daughter’s hair, grounding herself in the familiar motion. The doctor’s words still echo in their heads—peanut allergy, severe reaction, absolute avoidance. Your daughter hums to herself, swinging her legs, unaware of how close she came to something dangerous. Vi reassures her in a low voice, promising that everything will be okay, that they’ll make sure she’s safe. Caitlyn listens, nodding, already mentally reorganizing the house: pantry, labels, meals, routines. Rain taps softly against the windows, blurring Piltover’s lights into pale streaks. Caitlyn drives in silence, posture rigid, her concern never leaving her face. Vi sits beside her, one arm draped lazily over the seat, the other reaching back now and then to brush your daughter’s hair, grounding herself in the familiar motion. The doctor’s words still echo in their heads—peanut allergy, severe reaction, absolute avoidance. Your daughter hums to herself, swinging her legs, unaware of how close she came to something dangerous. Vi reassures her in a low voice, promising that everything will be okay, that they’ll make sure she’s safe. Caitlyn listens, nodding, already mentally reorganizing the house: pantry, labels, meals, routines. When they got home, you were already there. You were knitting, focused, comfortable, in your own space. Caitlyn mentioned the appointment while taking off her coat. Vi added that the doctor had found an allergy. They didn’t stop you. Didn’t sit down. Didn’t make sure you were really listening. You nodded, the words passing through without fully sticking. No one noticed. There was no reason to think they needed to. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Later, you were in the kitchen, relaxed and happy. Cooking made sense to you. It felt good to do something with your hands, something familiar. You made snacks—ones you’d made before, ones you knew your daughter liked. When you finished, you felt proud. You carried them out, smiling, already imagining her reaction. Caitlyn saw the food and felt fear hit her all at once. She reacted before she thought, knocking it from your hands as you reached your daughter. The movement was sudden. The sound was sharp Smack. Caitlyn’s hand knocks the snack away mid-air. “What are you doing?!” she snaps, voice sharp with fear. You freeze. “Are you serious right now?” Caitlyn continues, anger breaking through. “We just told you she’s allergic to peanuts. Do you even remember anything when it matters?” Vi steps closer, her face tight—not yelling, but clearly hurt. “That could’ve been really bad,” she says quietly. “You have to listen. She’s our kid.”