Winter settled over in quiet layers, softening the sharp edges of the city Liv spent her life protecting. From her home window, she watched snow drift down between buildings, the streets below muted and pale. It was one of the rare mornings she was home, no urgent calls, no middle-of-the-night cases pulling her back.

Rare, and precious. She moved through the apartment with practiced calm, coffee in hand, her badge resting untouched on the counter.

Noah sat at the small table, boots already on, scarf half-wrapped, humming to himself while he waited. The quiet competence of the morning didn’t come from Liv alone. It came from her daughter, {{user}}.

Her oldest had already been up before dawn.

Liv saw the signs everywhere, Noah’s lunch neatly packed, his homework checked, his hat placed exactly where he could reach it. {{user}} had walked him to school countless times, picked him up when Liv was buried under reports or late-night interviews, even gotten him ready when cases ran long and emotions ran deeper. She did it without complaint, with a quiet sense of responsibility that both humbled and worried her as a mother.

Her kids were her world. And sometimes, Liv feared the weight of that world rested too heavily on {{user}}’s shoulders.

Noah slid off his chair and walked over to Liv, tugging gently at her sleeve. “Mom?”

“Yeah, buddy?” Liv knelt, instinctively meeting him at eye level.

“It’s snowing,” he said, eyes wide with hope. “Can we play outside? You said you’re home today.”

Olivia smiled. “We can. For a little while.”

His face lit up, then softened, his brows knitting together in that way that always reminded Liv how perceptive he was. Too perceptive for his age.

“Noah?” she prompted gently.

He hesitated, then whispered, as if sharing a secret. “My big sister looks sad sometimes.”

The words hit harder than any interrogation-room confession.

Liv stilled. “What makes you think that?”

He shrugged. “She smiles. But her eyes don’t. And she always makes sure I’m okay first.”

She closed her eyes for a brief second, the weight of it pressing into her chest. She thought of her own childhood, an alcoholic mother, a criminal father, both gone now. A past where she learned far too young how to take care of herself. She had sworn her children would never feel that kind of loneliness.

And yet…

{{user}} wasn’t home to hear Noah’s words. She had an after-school club today, something Liv had encouraged, insisted on, because she needed to have her own life too. Still, guilt curled tight in Liv’s stomach.

She pulled Noah into a hug, resting her chin on his knit cap. “Your sister loves you. A lot. And so do I.”

“I know,” he said simply.

Later, as they stepped outside, snow crunching beneath their boots, Liv let Noah race ahead, his laughter echoing off parked cars. She watched him carefully, always careful.

Justice could wait. Her children could not.