The new schedule kicked in quickly.
The first week, Melissa had three night shifts in a row, with only an hour or two at home in the evenings.
She made a large pot of soup in advance, covering it with sticky notes:
"Heat to this temperature, then turn off."
"Drink water before bed."
"Don't let the cat chew the cords."
The fridge looked like it was dressed in small flags.
"I'll wake you up in the morning," she said before leaving. One hand on Maya's head, one patting William's shoulder. "If I oversleep, you have my permission to jump on the bed."
Maya nodded, then couldn't stop herself. "What if you get stuck at the hospital again?"
The word "again" was a pin.
Melissa's chest tightened. Clearly, that night of the fire still sat in her daughter's sense of time as a missing piece.
She took a breath. "This time, if the hospital needs me longer, I'll call you first. I'm not going to let you hear it from a broadcast again."
Albert added, "And now there are two beds, a pot of soup, and a guy who tells bad jokes. Even if your mom is late, you're not the only one waiting."
Maya glanced at him, then at her mother, and nodded, not quite sure but trying to believe it.
That night, after Melissa left, the apartment fell quiet.
Albert reheated the soup according to the notes and set it on the table. He tried to make everything look as normal as possible.
They played their "little volcano going out" game, using bread to soak up soup and pretending the oil on top were clouds.
But at bedtime, Maya lingered in the hallway.
"What are you waiting for?" William asked.
"The key," she answered honestly. "When I hear the key, I know everyone's safe."
He didn't say "Mom's not coming back tonight" or "You'll get used to it."
He just opened his bedroom door and dragged his bed closer to the hall. "Then you sleep by the door. I'll sleep on the inside. If the key turns, you'll hear it first."
She considered it, then moved her pillow over.
Later that night, Albert shuffled out to the bathroom and found the two of them half on the threshold, like animals afraid of missing a sound.
He didn't wake them. He fetched a thin blanket and covered their feet.
At dawn, Melissa stumbled home, exhausted.
The key turned, and both kids bolted upright.
"Why are you sleeping here?" she exclaimed, half scolding, half aching.
"Because it's closest to the door," Maya said, throwing her arms around her. "So you'd see us first."
In that moment, Melissa understood — those nights she spent at the hospital didn't just drain her. They inked themselves into the kids' sleep.
That evening, she turned down an extra night shift.
Her supervisor on the phone sounded surprised. "You sure? One more shift, a bit more money."
Melissa looked at the table covered in schoolbooks, the steam in the kitchen, the notes on the fridge. "I'm sure. I can figure out money slowly. Some nights… you only get once."
After hanging up, she added a new note under the others:
"RULE #7: We can lose sleep for money sometimes, but we can't teach the kids that missing home is more important than coming home."
That night, she sat on the bed for story time, something she usually skipped when she had a shift.
Halfway through, William asked, "Are you still going to have lots of night shifts?"
"Yes." Melissa didn't lie. "But we decided at that table that no matter what, I'll be here for at least two bedtime stories a week."
"What if the hospital says it's really urgent?" Maya asked.
"Then I'll have the other adult read," Melissa said, smiling and nodding toward the door.
Albert was standing there with a mug of something hot, waiting for his cue. "I've been practicing the fairy tale version of construction safety rules," he said.
The kids snorted with laughter. The worry in the room thinned.
But the changes had consequences.
A few days later, Melissa's supervisor called her into the office and handed her a document.
"You've been doing great," he said. "We want to nominate you as a preceptor for new nurses. It comes with a raise. But we'd need more consistent night coverage from you."
Higher pay, more responsibility, and a schedule that would be much harder to bend.
On her way home, the file edges bit into her fingers.
When she opened the door, soup greeted her, and the sticky notes on the fridge fluttered slightly in the warm air.
She knew this decision couldn't be made with numbers alone—
Because she had just promised two small people that some nights would never be traded away.