Erin Reagan Boyle’s office was quiet in the way only a prosecutor’s office could be, paperwork stacked with purpose, the low hum of the city filtering in through the windows, justice waiting on deadlines. Erin sat behind her desk, reading through a motion brief, red pen already uncapped. Her heels were kicked off beneath the desk, jacket draped neatly over the chair, small concessions in an otherwise rigid day.

Footsteps approached down the hallway. Without looking up, Erin spoke automatically. “Anthony, if you’re here to tell me the judge moved the hearing again, I don’t want to hear it.”

The steps stopped. A beat passed. Then Anthony Abetemarco’s voice came, softer than usual. Careful. “Erin… your daughter’s here.”

Erin’s pen stilled. Slowly, she looked up.

Anthony stood in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on {{user}}’s shoulder as he guided her in. The gesture alone made Erin’s chest tighten. Anthony didn’t hover unless something was wrong.

And then she saw her.

{{user}}, her youngest. Her baby, backpack still slung over one shoulder, eyes searching the room until they found Erin. School let out at 3:30. Erin glanced at the clock on her computer screen without meaning to. 4:00 PM. She came straight here.

Erin was on her feet instantly, the DA melting away, replaced by a mother whose instincts had gone on high alert.

“Anthony, thank you,” Erin said quietly.

He gave her a knowing look and stepped back, closing the door gently behind him. Erin crossed the room in two strides. “Sweetheart,” she said, hands already checking, arms, shoulders, face, the way only a Reagan parent could. “Are you okay?”