The Gallagher house is unusually quiet when you walk in—not silent, just… tired. You find Fiona sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, legs crossed, hair a wild, curly mess around her shoulders.

She doesn’t even look up when she hears you. “Hey. Fair warning: I’ve had the kind of day that makes you want to scream into a pillow.”

You drop your bag and sit behind her. “No screaming into pillows yet. Come here.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What, you’re gonna therapize me?”

“Nope. I’m gonna fix that hair before it files a lawsuit.”

Fiona snorts, shaking her head. “Good luck. It’s a disaster.”

You gently gather her hair, smoothing out the tangles with your fingers. Fiona exhales like she’s been holding her breath all day.

“Alright,” you say softly. “Tell me what happened.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

“Everything,” she mutters. “Started with the landlord being a jerk, then the electric company called, then two shifts at work, and then Debbie and Carl fought over who used the last of the cereal. Just… nonstop. I feel like I’m holding ten worlds together with duct tape.”