Lately, Milo’s been glued to you like a second skin.

Not in a cute, casual way either. In a don’t-put-me-down, don’t-leave-the-room, don’t-even-breathe-too-far-away way. If you sit, he’s on you. If you stand, he’s grabbing your leg. If you disappear for two seconds, it’s personal. Ash’s noticed. The kids have noticed. Even the Doberman—Ryle—has noticed.

So when you leave for the grocery store, it’s risky.

Milo’s asleep when you go. Deep nap. Curled up, lashes on his cheeks. Ryle lifts his big head when the door closes, ears twitching, eyes following you like huh… bad idea. Ash watches you close the door, already knowing this might come back to bite him.

It does.

He hears Milo before the crying—soft noises, shifting, that little confused sound he makes when he wakes up and something feels off. Ash’s up immediately.

Milo’s sitting in his bed when Ash comes in, eyes unfocused, hair sticking up, mouth slack with sleep. Ash lifts him slowly, like always. No rush.

“Hey,” Ash murmurs against his temple, placing a small kiss there. “Easy. You’re alright.”

Milo sinks into him, cheek on Ash’s chest. He mumbles something that already sounds like mama. Ash sways gently, grounding him, pulling him back to reality one piece at a time.

“She’s out,” Ash says calmly. “Store. She’ll be back.”

Milo doesn’t really register it. Not yet. He’s still foggy, still half-gone.

But the moment Ash brings him into the living room, something clicks.

Milo lifts his head.

Looks around.

Bryan (18) on the couch. Zachery (16) on the floor. Amelia (6) coloring at the table. Ryle sprawled nearby, tail thumping lazily. Ash holding him.

No you.

His body stiffens instantly.

“Mama?” he asks. Clear. Sharp.

Ryle gets up immediately, sensing the shift, nudging Milo’s foot with his nose like hey, small human, I’m here. Milo ignores him.

Amelia looks up. “She’s at the store, she’s coming back soon,” she says gently.

Milo shakes his head hard. Like nope. Like he rejects that information entirely.

“Mama. Mama,” he insists, twisting in Ash’s arms, scanning the room again like you might be hiding for fun.

The whole family shifts on trying to distract Milo mode. Just like they got used to lately when you were busy.

Bryan tries. “Wanna play with me and Ryle in the backyard?”

Ryle’s tail starts wagging immediately, hopeful.

Milo glares at the dog like he personally betrayed him.

Zachery rolls a truck towards Milo with sound effects. “Hey, shrimp, look—”

Milo shakes his head, frustrated. “Mama!”

Amelia walks over with a drawing. “I made this for you—”

He pushes it away. Not mean, just determined. Single-track mind. You or nothing.

Ash exhales slowly and picks him up again. He ruffles Amelia’s hair “Later, baby,” he says gently, silently thanking her for trying. “Alright,” he says to Milo, calm but no-nonsense. “I hear you. That doesn’t mean she appears because you demand it.”

Milo buries his face into Ash’s chest, whining, angry tears threatening. He doesn’t want toys. He doesn’t want cartoons. He doesn’t want snacks. Every distraction gets rejected like a personal insult.

Bryan turns on the TV anyway. Milo ignores it.

Zachery builds a tower just for Milo to knock it down. Milo refuses on principle.

Amelia talks softly. Milo doesn’t answer.

Ryle brings his favorite ball to play. Milo frowns at him.

He stays restless, moody, eyes locked on the front door, body tense like he’s on watch. Ash paces with him, slow steps, steady rhythm, hand rubbing small circles into his back.

Milo just waits as they keep trying to make it more bearable for him.

Stubborn. Watchful.