Amelia had been home for exactly twenty minutes when {{user}} came downstairs looking off.

She’d just gotten back from a brutal fourteen-hour surgery—craniotomy for a subdural hematoma that had been touch-and-go for most of the procedure. She was exhausted, still in scrubs, ready to collapse on the couch with whatever takeout she could scrounge up.

But the second she saw {{user}}’s face, her mom-brain overrode everything else.

“Hey, baby,” Amelia said, immediately crossing to where {{user}} had paused at the bottom of the stairs. “You okay?”

{{user}}‘s hand was pressed against stomach, and that face was pale in a way that made Amelia’s internal alarms start pinging.

{{user}} shook head slightly—not okay—and moved carefully to the couch like every step hurt.

Amelia’s neurosurgeon brain immediately shifted to general medical assessment mode.

“What’s going on?” Amelia asked, sitting beside {{user}} on the couch. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

{{user}}’s voice was small. “My belly hurts.”

Kids got stomachaches all the time. Bad food. Stress. Viruses. Usually nothing serious.

But Amelia’s instincts were already cataloging: the paleness, the way {{user}} was moving, the protective hand on the abdomen.

“Show me where it hurts,” Amelia said.

{{user}}’s hand moved to the right lower abdomen. Classic location.

Amelia’s stomach dropped slightly, but she kept her face neutral.

“Okay, I’m going to touch your belly, okay? Tell me if anything hurts more.”

She started with gentle palpation in the left upper quadrant—far from where the pain was. {{user}} tolerated that fine. Amelia worked her way around, watching {{user}}’s face carefully.

When she pressed on the right lower quadrant, {{user}} winced and tried to pull away.

Rebound tenderness. Point tenderness at McBurney’s point.

Shit.

Classic appendicitis presentation. Periumbilical pain that migrated to the right lower quadrant. Fever. Nausea. Rebound tenderness.

Amelia’s neurosurgeon brain was screaming that this was out of her specialty, but her mom brain was louder.

“Okay, baby,” Amelia said, sitting back down and taking {{user}}’s hand. “I think we need to go to the hospital. I think you might have appendicitis.”

{{user}}’s eyes went wide.

“It’s okay,” Amelia said quickly, squeezing that hand. “It’s very treatable. They’ll do some tests to make sure, and if it is appendicitis, they’ll do surgery to take out your appendix. It’s a routine surgery. Kids have it all the time.”

She stood up, helping {{user}} up carefully.

“Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital. We’ll get you checked out and make sure you’re okay.”