Amelia heard the sound from downstairs—that gasping, hyperventilating breathing that she’d learned to recognize immediately.

She took the stairs two at a time, her own heart racing because even though she knew what was happening, even though she’d done this dozens of times before, hearing her daughter in distress never got easier.

She found {{user}} in the upstairs bathroom, sitting on the floor with her back against the tub, chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. Tears streamed down {{user}}‘s face, and her hands were clutching at her chest like she couldn’t get enough air.

Panic attack. Another one.

“Hey, I’m here,” Amelia said immediately, keeping her voice calm and steady as she sat down on the floor next to {{user}}. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

{{user}}‘s eyes were wide with terror, that look that said she was convinced she was dying even though logically she knew she wasn’t. Amelia had seen it before. Had experienced it herself in her darker days.

“I know it feels like you can’t breathe,” Amelia said gently, not touching yet—she’d learned that sometimes touch helped and sometimes it made things worse, and she needed to read the situation first. “But you are breathing. Your body is getting oxygen. This is panic, not danger. You’re safe.”

{{user}}’s breathing was getting faster, more frantic, and Amelia recognized the signs of hyperventilation setting in.

“Okay, we’re going to breathe together,” Amelia said firmly. “Look at me. Eyes on me, baby.”

{{user}}‘s terrified gaze locked onto Amelia’s.

“In through your nose for four counts. Watch me. In—two—three—four.” Amelia demonstrated, exaggerating her breathing so {{user}} could see. “Hold for four. One—two—three—four. Out through your mouth for four. One—two—three—four.”

{{user}} tried to follow, but her breathing was too erratic, too panicked.

“That’s okay,” Amelia said immediately. “Don’t worry about matching me perfectly. Just try to slow down. Even a little bit helps. In… and out. In… and out.”

She kept her voice low and rhythmic, a steady anchor in the middle of {{user}}’s storm.

“You’ve done this before,” Amelia reminded her gently. “You know how this goes. The panic comes, it peaks, and then it passes. It always passes. You’ve never had a panic attack that didn’t end. This one will end too.”

{{user}} was still hyperventilating, but Amelia could see her trying to focus on the breathing instructions, trying to regain control even though her body was in full fight-or-flight mode.

“Good,” Amelia encouraged. “That’s good. Keep trying. Your body thinks there’s danger, but there isn’t. We’re just sitting in the bathroom. Safe. Together. No danger.”