Addison had been tracking the pattern for three weeks.

{{user}} would come home from daycare seemingly fine—smiling, babbling about her day in the mix of words and signs they’d been working on, eating dinner without fuss. Normal toddler behavior that had initially made Addison think the autism evaluation six months ago might have been premature.

Then, like clockwork, about an hour after being home, {{user}} would completely fall apart.

Not typical toddler tantrums—Addison had seen plenty of those in her pediatric rotation. These were different. More intense, lasting longer, with a quality of exhaustion and overwhelm that made Addison’s heart ache. {{user}} would cry until she made herself sick, bang her head against the couch cushions, and seem completely unable to be comforted.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Addison murmured now, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor as {{user}} rocked herself against the couch, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”

She’d learned not to try to pick {{user}} up during these episodes—touch seemed to make everything worse. Instead, she stayed close, speaking in low tones, offering her presence without demands.

Twenty minutes later, {{user}} finally crawled into Addison’s lap, exhausted and seeking comfort. Addison held her carefully, noting the way {{user}}’s small body seemed to melt with relief now that the storm had passed.

This was the fourth meltdown this week. Something had to change.

The next morning, Addison found herself sitting across from Dr. Sarah Chen, {{user}}’s developmental therapist. Dr. Chen specialized in early intervention for autistic children, and her office was a calm space filled with sensory toys and soft lighting.

“Tell me what you’ve been observing,” Dr. Chen said, settling into her chair with a warm but professional demeanor.

“The meltdowns started about three weeks ago,” Addison explained, pulling out her phone where she’d been documenting everything. “Always after daycare, always intense, lasting twenty to thirty minutes. But here’s the thing—she seems fine during the day. The daycare teachers say she’s adjusting well, playing with other kids, following routines.”

“Hm,” Dr. Chen said. “What you’re describing sounds like masking behavior. Even at two, some autistic children start learning to suppress their natural responses and mimic neurotypical behavior, especially in social settings like daycare.”

Dr. Chen leaned forward, her expression gentle but serious. “The good news is we can work with this. We need to teach {{user}} some self-regulation strategies, and more importantly, we need to work with the daycare on creating a more autism-friendly environment so she doesn’t feel the need to mask so intensely.”

Addison glanced over to the corner where {{user}} was playing, peaceful as can be. Her heart ached with both love and a deep protectiveness as she caught her daughter’s eyes.