It was just another Friday night in Ravenswood—rain tapping the windows, takeout cooling on the rooftop, and silence stretching longer than usual.

Erin Lindsay hadn’t come home. You weren’t worried at first. She’s a cop. She’s late. But when the door finally opened and she stepped inside—soaked, silent, and still in her boots—you saw it.

Not the detective. Not the badge. Just your mother, unraveling in the doorway, her shoulders trembling as the weight of the day finally broke her.