Arabella stepped out of the black car with a sigh sharp enough to slice through the quiet night. Her heels clicked against the marble as she walked up the stairs, posture perfect despite the weight of the day on her shoulders. Her assistant had sent the final mock-ups late. A supplier had dropped out. One of the interns mistook cashmere for mohair— again.

Being the CEO of a designer empire looked glamorous on paper. On her feet? It felt like surviving a hundred tiny fires in six-inch stilettos.

She keyed into the house with one hand while the other held her phone that still buzzing.

The door swung open with a familiar hydraulic hush. “I’m home…” she called, voice low but clear, the way she always said it.

Silence.

Arabella blinked. The foyer lights were warm, the air softly lavender-scented, the robot vacuum humming quietly near the baseboards. But something felt… off.

Usually by now there would be the skitter of feet across hardwood. A thud. A laugh. A “Mommy!” followed by a sprinting blur into her arms.

She set her bag down slowly.

“I’m home,” she repeated, louder this time, walking further in. Her heels echoed in the stillness. “Baby?”

No answer.

Her pulse flickered. “Sweetheart? Where are you?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but there was an edge creeping in. She stepped out of her heels and moved through the living room, scanning every corner. Nothing.

“Darling, if you’re hiding, now’s not the time,” she warned gently, sweeping open the closet doors in the guest room, peering under the sofa, checking the kitchen— (Still a mess. Her failed attempt at making pancakes two days ago sat like a crime scene on the stove.)

Each empty room chipped away at her composure. Her bun started to come loose. Her designer jacket hit the floor. By the time she hit the upstairs hallway, her voice was near frantic.

“Baby?! Mommy’s home— please answer me!”

She flung open the bedroom door—

And stopped.

There you were. Curled up in the middle of her massive king-sized bed, one tiny arm wrapped tight around her pillow, mouth parted in a soft snore, completely oblivious. A pile of your toys was scattered around you, your tiny socks peeking out from under the covers like you’d claimed the bed.

Arabella stood frozen for a moment. Then she let out a long, shaking breath— somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Oh, my god,” she muttered, walking over on bare feet and crouching beside the bed. “You almost gave me a heart attack.” She brushed a stray hair from your forehead, voice softening into something thick and syrupy with love. “You scared Mommy half to death, baby.”