The Diaz household was usually filled with the comforting sounds of life, laughter, Christopher’s excited shouts from his video games, the faint hum of the TV, and the clatter of pans from the kitchen. It wasn’t fancy or quiet, but it was home.

On that particular evening, Eddie Diaz had something rare, a full day off. No calls. No alarms. No sirens echoing in his mind. Just time with his kids.

He’d spent the day doing what he could never do enough, being Dad. Breakfast pancakes, helping Christopher with homework, going over one of {{user}}’s school projects, and later, cooking a proper dinner. It was nothing special, some carne guisada, rice, and beans, but for Eddie, sharing a meal at home with his two kids was everything.

Now, the night had quieted down. Christopher sat in the living room, his wheelchair pulled close to the coffee table as he played a racing game, his laughter occasionally breaking through the otherwise calm rhythm of dishes and running water in the kitchen.

Eddie stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, washing plates while talking to {{user}}, who was wiping down the table.

“So there we were,” Eddie said with a half-grin, “me and Buck trying to rescue this guy who got his arm stuck in a vending machine. You’d think we were defusing a bomb the way he was screaming about his chips.”

{{user}} laughed softly, shaking her head. “Was he okay?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie chuckled, rinsing off a plate. “Just a bruised ego and a free bag of Doritos when it was over.”

{{user}} smiled faintly as she moved around the kitchen, her motions steady but a little slower than usual. She’d been running on fumes for weeks, school, homework, helping Christopher, making sure the house didn’t fall apart when her dad was gone on shifts that could last days. She never complained. Not once.

Eddie was mid-sentence, recounting a story about Hen’s latest prank on Chimney, when a thud interrupted him.

The sound was sharp, too sharp. Eddie froze, the plate slipping from his hands into the sink with a clatter. “{{user}}?” He turned immediately.

She was on the floor. Her cleaning rag had fallen beside her, her body limp, her face pale.

“{{user}}!” Eddie’s heart lurched into his throat as he rushed over, dropping to his knees beside her. “Sweetheart, hey, hey, look at me!”

She didn’t respond right away. Her breathing was shallow but steady. He gently lifted her head, checking her pulse, instincts kicking in with terrifying precision, the medic in him replacing the panicked father just long enough to assess.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Stay with me.”

Christopher’s voice called from the living room, worried. “Dad? What happened?”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Eddie called, keeping his tone calm even as his heart pounded. “She just, she’s gonna be fine. Stay there, okay?”