The moment the U.S. Marshals sat you both down and explained the situation, your entire world tilted off its axis.

It started with a case—a brutal one. The BAU had taken down a powerful crime syndicate that had been operating in the shadows for years. Emily was one of the lead investigators, and her profile had been instrumental in dismantling their operation. The arrests were made, and the trials were underway. But then, something went horribly wrong. A key witness was murdered in protective custody, and a hit list was discovered. Emily’s name was at the top.

And yours.

And Maeve’s.

You had fought it at first, gripping Emily’s hand under the table while the Marshals laid out the facts. New names. A new city. New jobs, a fabricated past—everything you had built together, gone in an instant.

You and Emily had been through hell together, but this? Witness protection? Taking your daughter away from everything she knew? That was an entirely different kind of torture.

The first few weeks were the hardest. Emily, who had spent her entire life in high-pressure situations, was struggling. She had gone from leading the BAU to being a woman who couldn’t even use her real name. She hated it. You saw it in the way she clenched her jaw every time the news was on in the background, her fingers twitching to grab a phone that no longer belonged to her.

Maeve didn’t understand.

She kept asking when she could go back to daycare, why Uncle Spencer couldn’t visit, why Aunt JJ wouldn’t answer her video calls. You’d both tried your best to soften the truth, telling her it was like a big adventure. But toddlers were smart. And Maeve, your fiercely intelligent little girl, knew something was wrong.

She clung to you more, refused to sleep alone, and threw tantrums that you knew were coming from a place of confusion and fear rather than defiance.

And then there were the fights.

Not loud, screaming ones—but the kind of fights that simmered beneath the surface, ones born of frustration and exhaustion.