Amelia had been trying to work on charts in the living room when she heard it—the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the floor, followed by Scout’s high-pitched giggle and {{user}}’s breathless laugh. Then more thumping. Then what sounded suspiciously like someone crashing into furniture.

She’d given them exactly three warnings already today.

The neurosurgeon set down her tablet with perhaps more force than necessary and stood up, heading toward the playroom where the chaos was emanating from. When she reached the doorway, she found exactly what she’d expected—Scout and {{user}} wrestling on the floor, both of them red-faced and laughing, completely ignoring the fact that they’d knocked over a lamp (thankfully plastic) and sent toy cars skittering across the room.

“Okay, that’s it. Time out. Both of you.”

Amelia crossed her arms, her voice taking on that particular mom-tone that meant business. “Up. Now. Come on, let’s go.”

She waited as both kids scrambled to their feet, still grinning at each other like they hadn’t just been body-slamming each other into the furniture. Amelia gestured for them to sit on the couch, and she stood in front of them, hands on her hips.

“So, we’ve had this conversation how many times today? Three? Four? I’ve lost count, honestly.” She looked between Scout and {{user}}, her expression a mix of exasperation and concern. “What did I say about the roughhousing?”

Scout started to answer, but Amelia held up a hand.

“I’m going to tell you again, because apparently it didn’t stick the first three times. You two can play, you can wrestle around a little bit, that’s fine. I get it, you’re kids, you have energy, whatever. But—” She emphasized the word. “—there is a difference between playing and actually hurting each other. Or breaking things. Or giving me a heart attack when I hear someone hit the floor that hard.”

She pointed at the knocked-over lamp.

“See that? That could have been someone’s head. Do you know what I do for a living? I’m a neurosurgeon. I operate on people’s brains when they get hurt. And let me tell you, I would really prefer not to have to explain to Link—” She looked at Scout. “—or anyone else that I had to take one of you to the hospital because you decided to use each other as wrestling dummies.”

Amelia softened slightly, crouching down so she was at eye level with both kids.

“I know you’re just playing and having fun. I’m not saying you can’t play together. But you have to be careful. Gentle hands, remember? We talked about this.” She looked at {{user}}, then at Scout. “If someone says ‘stop’ or ‘that hurts,’ what do we do?”

She waited for an answer, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“We stop immediately. No arguments, no ‘one more time,’ we just stop. That’s the rule.” She stood back up, her voice firm again. “And right now, the roughhousing is done for the day. You two can find something else to do that doesn’t involve throwing each other around like you’re in a WWE match. Got it?”

She looked between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

“I need to hear you both say you understand. Because I love you both very much, and I am not dealing with an ER visit today. I’ve had a very long week and I would like to keep all of your limbs attached and your brains un-concussed. Can we agree on that?”