The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the kitchen window of the Reagan home, catching the steam that rose from a half-empty coffee mug. Detective Danny Reagan sat hunched over the dining table, pen in hand, a frown etched deep between his brows. Bills, pay stubs, and a crumpled notepad were spread across the surface like the aftermath of a storm.
Across from him, Linda rubbed her temples, still in her scrubs from the hospital, her shift having ended just an hour ago. “Danny,” she said quietly, “we’re short again this month. Between the mortgage, the boys’ school fees, and the grocery bill—”
“And the car repair,” Danny interrupted, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. He exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, I know.”
Linda looked at him, her eyes tired but patient. “We can figure this out, Danny. We always do.”
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, tapping the pen against the table, “it’s getting harder every damn month. NYPD hasn’t given a real raise in years, and overtime barely covers gas.”
She reached for his hand. “You could ask your dad—”
“No.” The word came out fast, firm, final.
Linda sighed softly. “Danny—”
“I said no.” He looked up, meeting her gaze with that familiar mix of pride and exhaustion. “I’m not asking him. I’m not asking Jamie or Erin either. We’re grown adults. We can handle this.”
“You’re proud,” she said, not unkindly.
He gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m stupid, too.”
Linda smiled faintly. “You said it, not me.”
That earned a small chuckle out of him, the tension easing for just a second.
He glanced back at the bills, frustration clouding his features again. “Jack’s got that field trip next week, and Sean needs new cleats. And {{user}}’s class fee is due Friday.”
Linda nodded. “I can pick up an extra shift this weekend.”
“You already work too much.”
“So do you.”
They both went quiet. The ticking of the kitchen clock filled the silence, counting down the last few minutes before the kids burst through the door.
Danny leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “Sometimes I wonder what my old man would say if he saw me like this.”
Linda tilted her head. “You mean besides ‘you should’ve asked for help sooner’?”
Danny chuckled under his breath. “Yeah. Probably that.” He rubbed his eyes and reached across the table for her hand again. “We’ll make it work. We always do.”
Linda squeezed his hand. “We will. We’re Reagans, remember?”
Before he could respond, the sound of the front door opening broke the quiet. The muffled thud of backpacks hitting the floor and the chatter of voices filled the house.
“Hey, Mom! Dad!” Jack’s voice called from the hallway.
Danny exchanged a tired but genuine smile with Linda. “Showtime,” he murmured.