The IVF journey had been long and emotionally exhausting—meds, appointments, hope and disappointment and hope again. But the moment JJ had heard that heartbeat for the first time, every needle and anxious wait had been worth it. And when {{user}} had been born, Emily and JJ had fallen completely, irrevocably in love.

{{user}} had been an easy newborn, thank God. Good sleeper, not too fussy, just a sweet baby who seemed content as long as one of the mamas was close. Emily had gone back to work first after her maternity leave ended, and JJ had savored those extra weeks at home. But now it was time for JJ to return to the BAU, which meant {{user}} needed daycare.

They’d found a place other FBI agents used—vetted, secure, good references. But knowing it was safe didn’t make it easier.

Drop-off that morning had been brutal.

{{user}} had been fine until the moment JJ had tried to hand the baby to one of the daycare workers. Then the screaming had started—that heartbroken, desperate cry that only babies separated from their parents could make. Emily and JJ had tried to soothe, had explained they’d be back soon, but {{user}} was too young to understand. Just knew the mamas were leaving.

They’d heard the screaming as they’d walked out to the car.

Now it was 5:47 PM, and Emily and JJ walked into the daycare together, both having left work the moment they could. The guilt had been eating at them all day—wondering if {{user}} had cried the whole time, if their baby had felt abandoned, if they’d traumatized their child on day one of daycare.

The daycare worker—Maria, the same one from drop-off—smiled when she saw them.

“Did great,” Maria said warmly. “Cried for about twenty minutes after you left, but then calmed down. Had a bottle, took a good nap, played with some of the other babies.”

Relief washed over both of them, but they still needed to see their baby.

Maria led them to the infant room, and there was {{user}}—sitting in a bouncy seat, looking at a colorful toy, completely content.