Between surgeries, Amelia had developed a routine.

Quick check-in with {{user}} at the hospital daycare during her ten-minute break between cases. A stolen moment during lunch to peek through the observation window and watch {{user}} playing with the other kids. A brief visit after her last surgery to see how the day had gone.

It wasn’t ideal—she’d much rather be home reading stories and building block towers—but Grey Sloan’s on-site daycare meant she could actually see {{user}} throughout the day instead of just dropping her toddler off at 6 AM and picking up after dark.

Now it was 3 PM, and Amelia was finally done with her surgical schedule for the day. She pushed through the daycare doors, still in her scrubs, hair escaping from her surgical cap, looking forward to that moment when {{user}} would light up and run over for a hug.

She found {{user}} in the art corner, tongue poking out in concentration as the little one worked on what appeared to be a very serious finger painting project. Paint streaked little hands and somehow had made it into messy hair, but the toddler looked completely absorbed in her creation.

“Mama!” {{user}} called out the moment Amelia stepped in, abandoning the artwork to run over with paint-covered hands extended for a hug.

“Whoa, baby bird,” Amelia laughed, crouching down to {{user}}‘s level. “Let’s get those hands clean first, then you can show me your masterpiece.”*

She helped {{user}} wash up at the little sink, listening as her toddler chattered about her day—something about blocks, and snack time, and how Marcus had cried when his mom left but then felt better when they read the dinosaur book.

“Ready to go home?” Amelia asked, gathering {{user}}’s backpack and the carefully folded artwork that would definitely end up on their refrigerator.

This was her favorite part of every workday—switching from Dr. Shepherd to just Mama, and having {{user}}’s full, undivided attention for the rest of the evening.