Simon parked his truck outside your house, the rumble of the engine dying down as Mia, unbuckled seatbelt.

“Do you think Mommy will like it?” she asked, holding up the m project she’d made during her weekend at his place.

“She’ll love it,” Simon said, ruffling her curls.

Mia hopped out of the truck as Simon grabbed her overnight bag. The front door opened before they reached it, and there you stood, your hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, a coffee mug in one hand and your detective badge clipped to belt.

“Hey, Mia!” you greeted, bending down to scoop her into a hug. You glanced up at Simon. “Thanks for bringing her home early.”

“No problem,” he replied, his tone neutral.

It had been 3 years since your divorce, and you had your system down- short, polite exchanges, minimal emotion, and no room for arguments. But every so often, something lingered in the air: unspoken words, unresolved tension, or the faintest spark of what once was.

“I made you this!” Mia thrust the glittery project into your hands.

Your face softened as you studied it. “Wow, Mia, this is beautiful. Thank you!” you kissed her forehead and sent her inside to, leaving you and Simon alone on the porch. For a moment, you didn’t speak.

“She’s been asking about your schedule again,” Simon said finally “Wants to know why you can’t make it to her recital next week.”

You sighed "I’m working on it. We’ve got a big case, and I,”

“She’s six,” he interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. “She doesn’t understand ‘big cases.’ She just wants her mom there.”

The frustration on your face flickered into guilt, and for a moment, Simon almost regretted his tone.