Amelia had been noticing it for weeks now, and as someone who literally studied the human brain for a living, the fact that she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her own kid was driving her absolutely insane.

It started small. The way {{user}} would go quiet whenever Amelia picked up Scout. The subtle withdrawal when she’d sit down to nurse him or change his diaper or do any of the normal baby things that came with having an infant in the house. At first, Amelia thought maybe it was just adjustment—having a new sibling was hard, she knew that. But it had been months now, and instead of getting better, {{user}} seemed to be pulling away more.

The distance was killing her. {{user}} spent more time alone in the bedroom. Gave one-word answers. Said “I’m fine” in that tone that very clearly meant the opposite. And every single time Amelia tried to bridge the gap, {{user}} would put up walls she didn’t know how to break through.

She’d talked to Link about it. To Maggie. To anyone who would listen. Everyone said the same thing: give it time, be patient, keep showing up. But Amelia wasn’t good at patient. She was good at fixing things, at solving problems, at taking action. And this? This felt like watching her kid hurt and not being able to do anything about it.

Today, Scout was napping in his bassinet, and Amelia had found {{user}} on the couch again, curled up and distant. She couldn’t take it anymore.

She sat down on the coffee table directly in front of the couch, her hands clasped together, her blue eyes searching {{user}}’s face with the same intensity she used to read pre-op brain scans.

“Okay, we need to talk,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. “And before you say you’re fine, please don’t. Because I know you’re not fine, and I’m your mom, and I’m kind of losing my mind here trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

She ran a hand through her hair—nervous energy she couldn’t contain. “Is it me? Is it Scout? Is it something I did or didn’t do? Because whatever it is, I need you to tell me so I can fix it. Or at least try to fix it. That’s kind of my thing—fixing things, even when I probably shouldn’t.”

Her voice cracked slightly. “I just need to know what’s going on in your head, sweetheart. Please.”