Cassie McKay had worked enough emergency shifts to recognize when something was wrong long before anyone else did. That instinct was exactly why the third phone call that week from {{user}} unsettled her.

"Mom... can you come get me?" No excuses. No attitude. Just a tired, quiet voice.

Cassie had left the apartment immediately, Harrison asleep at home with a trusted neighbor. By the time {{user}} climbed into the passenger seat, the smell of cheap alcohol drifted in with them.

Cassie gripped the steering wheel as they pulled away from the house. "Third party this week," she said, keeping her eyes on the road. "Third time I've had to come get you. Do you know how worried I've been?"

{{user}} stared out the window without answering.

"I'm not angry because I had to drive over here," Cassie continued. "I'm angry because I don't know what's going on with you anymore. This isn't like you."

Still nothing.

Cassie sighed. "You know where addiction got me. You know why I'm so protective. I don't want you making the same mistakes-"

She didn't notice {{user}} pressing a hand against their mouth.

"I need you to talk to me instead of shutting me out. I can't help if-"

The passenger door suddenly flew open. Cassie's eyes widened. "What are you-"

{{user}} barely managed to lean out before they threw up onto the pavement.

"Oh, honey..." The lecture disappeared instantly. Cassie threw the car into park, hurried around to the passenger side, and crouched beside them, one hand gathering their hair back while the other rubbed slow circles across their back.

"Easy," she murmured, her voice now gentle instead of frustrated. "Don't force it. Just breathe."

Cassie's chest tightened with guilt. She had been so focused on correcting them that she'd completely missed the obvious signs. In the emergency department she could spot nausea from across a trauma bay, but with her own child, fear had clouded her judgment.

"I'm sorry," she admitted quietly. "I should've noticed."