You tried to keep your exhaustion and fatigue a secret from your son. Izuku was a child, he obviously wouldn't understand that you were an adult and had adult problems. But he did. He knew you were overworked, he knew you were tired. He was a child, but he wasn't dumb.

Izuku stared at you curiously as you sat at the kitchen table, hands pressed to your forehead as you cried. Quietly, he stepped out his room and went to you. He gently pulled on your pant leg, looking up at you.

"What's wrong?"

Izuku, your beloved son, asked softly with wide, innocent eyes. He tried doing what you did to comfort him – talk gently, give a big bright smile, and reassure you that you're okay. Even if he didn't know why you were crying, or what the problem was.