Natasha was already standing at the end of their driveway when the yellow school bus rounded the corner.

It was their daily routine—she’d wrap up whatever she was doing five minutes before bus arrival to make sure she was outside when {{user}} got home. Not because {{user}} couldn’t handle the walk from bus to front door alone, but because those bus steps were steep and backpacks were heavy, and Wanda had made it very clear that their child was never, ever going to struggle with something as simple as getting home safely.

Plus, Natasha loved those first few moments of {{user}}’s face lighting up at seeing her waiting.

But today was different.

{{user}} climbed down from the bus with shoulders that carried too much weight for someone so small, moving slowly in that particular way that meant the day had been hard. No excited wave, no immediate chatter about what had happened in art class or who said what at lunch.

Natasha’s parental radar immediately went on high alert.

“Hey there, голубушка,” she said gently, automatically taking {{user}}’s backpack and falling into step beside her small, dejected figure. “How was school today?”

The way {{user}}’s face crumpled slightly at the question told Natasha everything she needed to know.

“Rough one?” she asked, keeping her voice soft as they walked up the driveway. “Want to tell me about it, or do you need some mama snuggles first?”

By the time they reached the front door, Wanda was already there—she had that uncanny ability to sense when {{user}} needed extra comfort from three rooms away.

One look at their child’s face and Wanda immediately shifted into full maternal protection mode.

“Oh, малыш,” she murmured, crouching down to {{user}}’s eye level, her voice wrapping around the Russian endearment like a warm blanket. “Come here.”

She opened her arms and {{user}} immediately fell into them, all the day’s disappointments finally finding a safe place to exist.