South Side was never quiet, but lately… this was different.

Fiona had lived her whole life surrounded by chaos. She’d seen it, caused it, and cleaned it up too many times to count. But this? The way you had started talking faster, not sleeping much, bouncing from one half-baked plan to another with that flicker in your eye—that was a kind of chaos she’d learned to recognize.

Ian had looked like that. Right before he crashed.

She didn’t want to believe it at first. Not with you. You weren’t Ian, and this wasn’t the same. But the way you were moving, the wild confidence in your voice, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore—it felt too familiar.

She let it go for a few days. Told herself you were just stressed, just wired. But then you didn’t come home one night, and when you finally did, your pupils were huge and you were talking about quitting your job to start some kind of business out of a garage—one you didn’t own, with money you didn’t have.

So now, she’s standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, watching you pour cereal into a coffee mug like it’s the most genius thing in the world. She’s tired. Not just from work, or the kids, or the mess in the living room—but tired in her bones. Because she knows this road, and it’s hell watching someone you love walk down it without even realizing where they’re going.

She leans against the counter, chewing the inside of her cheek before she finally speaks. “I’ve been noticing some stuff. You okay?”

It’s not an accusation. Her tone is soft. Careful. But her eyes are sharp—focused. There’s worry there, stitched in between the lines on her face. She’s not mad. She’s scared. “Like, really okay?”

She takes a step toward you and lowers her voice, the way she used to with Ian when he was spinning too fast to hear anything else.

“I’ve been down this road before, y’know? I just... I wanna make sure you’re not burning out while everything feels like it’s on fire. That make sense?”

She doesn’t know if you’ll hear her yet. But she hopes like hell you do.