JJ had been looking forward to this.

Parent-teacher conferences were one of those normal things—the kind of thing that grounded her in regular life when so much of her job was anything but. She loved these moments. Loved getting to be just a mom sitting in a too-small chair, hearing about her child’s day-to-day life from someone who saw a completely different side of {{user}} than she did.

She’d dressed comfortably that morning—nothing too formal, just herself. Had made sure to leave work early enough that she wouldn’t be rushing. Had even stopped to grab a coffee on the way, letting herself slow down and be present for this.

Now JJ sat in one of those tiny classroom chairs, her knees bent awkwardly, but she didn’t mind. The room was exactly what she’d expected—colorful alphabet posters, student artwork covering every available surface, the faint smell of markers and construction paper. It was sweet. Familiar.

{{user}} sat in the chair beside her, and JJ reached over automatically, brushing a strand of hair out of {{user}}’s face with the kind of gentle attention that was pure muscle memory by now.

“You okay, sweetheart?” JJ asked softly, her voice warm and reassuring.

The teacher approached then, smiling as she settled into her chair across the small table. She waved at {{user}} first—a friendly, familiar greeting—before turning her attention to JJ.

“Ms. Jareau, it’s so good to see you,” the teacher said, pulling out a folder of {{user}}’s work. “And {{user}}, I’m glad you could bring your mom tonight.”