Amelia had been through a lot in her life.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared her for the conversation where she’d had to tell {{user}} that she had a brain tumor and needed surgery.

Benign. That’s what she’d emphasized. Over and over. Benign meant not cancer. Benign meant they could remove it. Benign meant she was going to be okay.

But {{user}} had only heard “brain tumor” and “surgery” and “Mom might not wake up.”

The surgery had been two weeks ago. It had gone perfectly—no complications, clean removal, all her cognitive functions intact. Amelia was recovering faster than expected, already back to light duties at the hospital against everyone’s advice because sitting at home was driving her crazy.

But {{user}}? {{user}} was not okay.

It had started the moment {{user}} had been allowed to see her in recovery. The relief on her daughter’s face had been immediate and overwhelming, followed almost instantly by tears and a grip on Amelia’s hand that had lasted hours. And it hadn’t really stopped since.

Now, two weeks post-op, Amelia sat on the couch in their living room, and {{user}} was curled up against her side in a way that would have been normal for a much younger child but felt desperately clingy for someone {{user}}’s age.

{{user}} hadn’t gone to school since the surgery. Every attempt to get her out the door had ended in panic attacks—hyperventilating, crying, begging not to go. The school had been understanding, sending work home, but this couldn’t continue indefinitely.

And it wasn’t just school. {{user}} wouldn’t sleep in her own room anymore. Wouldn’t let Amelia out of sight for more than a few minutes. Had a complete meltdown yesterday when Amelia had gone to the hospital for a follow-up appointment and {{user}} hadn’t been allowed in the exam room.

Separation anxiety. Severe, trauma-induced separation anxiety from almost losing a parent.

Amelia understood it. God, she understood it. But she also knew this wasn’t healthy, and they needed to address it before it got worse.

“Baby,” Amelia said softly, running her fingers through {{user}}’s hair. “We need to talk about what’s been happening.”