papers I
emily watches as aria’s breathing evens out, her tiny body melting into the mattress, the last of her resistance giving way to sleep. her little hand, so small, is wrapped around emily’s fingers, holding tight, even as her grip loosens with exhaustion. emily doesn’t move yet. she just watches, taking in the soft curve of aria’s cheek, the way her lashes flutter slightly as she settles deeper.
then, so quietly, a tiny, barely-there murmur—
“wub you…”
emily exhales sharply, her throat tightens.
“love you too, bug,” she whispers back, her voice steady, warm, even as her chest pulls with something heavier. she stays a second longer, just until aria’s grip fully slackens, then carefully—carefully—wiggles her fingers free.
aria doesn’t stir. emily watches her for another moment, then slowly stands, slipping out of the room and pulling the door just slightly ajar. she makes it to the kitchen, exhales slowly, and starts sorting through the mail, grounding herself in something simple.
bills.
magazines.
a small package—right, the pajamas. emily had ordered them because she knew aria would love them, because they had little ballet slippers on them, because she couldn’t resist the way they reminded her of the tiny pink shoes that aria insisted on carrying everywhere.
she smiles a little at that, setting it aside.
but then— her fingers still over an envelope. it’s plain, white, but the return address is not.
a lawyer. and underneath?
elizabeth prentiss.
her breath catches. her body reacts before her brain does, her fingers tearing the envelope open, unfolding the document inside. her eyes scan the words.
custody.
her heart pounds. elizabeth is giving up custody. not negotiating, not asking, not discussing. just signing aria over. no call. no warning. no anything. emily’s stomach drops, a cold, sharp weight sinking inside of her. she doesn’t think. she moves, grabbing her phone, her hands shaking slightly as she scrolls for the one number she hasn’t dialed in years.
she presses call. it rings once. twice. three times. then—
“i assume you’ve read the papers.”
elizabeth’s voice is as sharp, as detached as ever.
emily grips the counter, white-knuckled. “what the hell is this?”
a pause. then, calmly—
“exactly what it says, emily.”
emily scoffs, disbelief burning under her skin. “you’re just—just giving her up? like she’s some—some thing to hand off?”
“this is what’s best.”
“for who?!” emily snaps, her voice cutting through the quiet apartment. “because it sure as hell isn’t for her.”
elizabeth exhales, long, measured, like she’s explaining something simple to a child. “you know what kind of life i lead. what i can and cannot provide. you were a child in it once, don’t pretend you don’t understand.”
emily grits her teeth. “so that’s it?” she spits. “you don’t even want to see her? speak to her? nothing?”
another pause. then, colder—
“no.”
something in emily fractures.
“this is what’s best,” elizabeth repeats, voice devoid of any feeling. “sign it, emily.”
emily laughs—harsh, disbelieving, bitter. “you don’t even care, do you?”
silence.
“jesus christ,” emily breathes, shaking her head. “i didn’t sign up for this, you know that, right?”
“and yet, here we are.”
her mother’s voice is so even, so calm, like she didn’t just drop a bomb on emily’s entire life. emily’s chest tightens. because it’s not that she wouldn’t raise aria—of course she would—it’s that elizabeth is kicking her to the curb like trash, like aria is a burden, a problem to be removed.
and what about her? emily is in her late twenties. she just got her career off the ground. she’s barely had time to feel stable in it. she didn’t plan for this, didn’t prepare, didn’t—
“god,” emily exhales, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, “do you even feel anything about this?”
another pause. then, as cold as ice—
“goodnight, emily.”
the line goes dead. emily doesn’t move. just stands there, gripping the counter, breathing, her pulse thudding in her ears. custody.
aria is hers.
just like that.
emily swallows, her throat tight, the papers crinkling in her grip. she looks toward the hallway, toward the room where aria sleeps—oblivious, safe, trusting—and exhales, long and slow.
this wasn’t supposed to be her life. but it is now.
emily drops the papers onto the counter like they burn, stepping back like distance will somehow change the words on the page.
custody.
it pounds in her head, over and over, her heart racing like she’s just been cornered. this wasn’t a choice. this wasn’t a conversation. elizabeth just decided. just washed her hands of aria like it was nothing. like it was just easier this way. emily grips the edge of the counter, breath coming sharper, her stomach twisting so tight she feels like she might throw up.
she didn’t sign up for this. she didn’t prepare for this.
she’s twenty-eight. she just started a career she’s not even sure she’ll keep. her life isn’t stable, isn’t structured, isn’t ready for a kid—for aria.
her vision blurs slightly. she scrubs a hand over her face, trying to clear it, but it only makes everything feel worse, like she can’t breathe in her own skin.
god, what the fuck is she supposed to do?
aria trusts her. aria holds her hand when she falls asleep. aria lights up when she walks through the door. aria needs her. and emily? emily feels like she’s barely keeping her head above water. her hands grip the counter tighter, bracing herself against the sheer weight of this, of what it means, of how suddenly the ground beneath her has shifted. she was already raising aria—she knows that—but there was always the idea that maybe, at some point, elizabeth would step in. that somewhere, in the back of her mind, elizabeth was still there.
but now? this was it. she was it. and she had no one to call.
no one to tell her how to do this. no mother, no father, no family to step in and say, it’s okay, you’ve got this, you’re not alone. she clenches her jaw so tight her teeth ache.
this wasn’t supposed to be her life. but it is now.
and the worst part? she doesn’t even get to be mad.
because aria is sleeping down the hall, in the room emily decorated for her, in the sheets emily tucked her into, safe in a home that emily gave her. aria is the one who lost something tonight. not her. not elizabeth.
aria.
emily swallows hard, her breath still too fast, too shallow, the panic pressing tight against her ribs. but then— a noise. small. muffled. a soft, sleepy “mmm…”
emily’s head snaps up. she listens. nothing for a second. then— another small sound, followed by a quiet, shifting creak of a mattress. emily moves before she can even think, her feet carrying her down the hall, her hands still shaking as she pushes open the bedroom door. aria is shifting slightly, tangled in the blankets, her tiny brows furrowed like she’s just barely waking up, still caught between sleep and uncertainty.
emily exhales, her pulse pounding, but her voice is steady when she speaks.
“hey, bug,” she murmurs, stepping closer. “you okay?”
aria hums softly, blinking slowly at her, still heavy with sleep. but then—one tiny hand reaches out. small, instinctive, automatic. emily doesn’t hesitate. she takes it, kneeling beside the bed, wrapping aria’s tiny fingers in her own.
“‘m sleepy,” aria murmurs, voice so small, eyes half-closed.
emily exhales, her throat tight, but she nods, smoothing her thumb over aria’s knuckles.
“i know, sweetheart,” she whispers. “go back to sleep.”
aria sighs, like that’s all she needed to hear. her little fingers tighten around emily’s hand once, just for a second, before she fully relaxes, melting back into her pillow, her breath evening out again. emily watches her, feeling everything at once.
she stays. kneeling there, next to aria’s bed, holding her hand, until she knows for sure she’s okay. until she knows for sure she’s okay. because right now? that’s all that matters.
morning comes, but emily never really slept.
she laid there all night, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over—the letter, the phone call, the way elizabeth had just cut her off, like it was nothing. like aria was nothing.
but aria isn’t nothing. aria is everything pure, innocent and loving. and that’s why, even as exhaustion drags at her bones, even as the weight of it all presses heavy against her chest, she still moves through the morning the way she always does—with care.
she lifts aria gently, cradling her against her chest as the toddler stirs, blinking up at her sleepily.
“mornin’, bug,” emily murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
aria hums softly, shifting in emily’s arms, tucking her face against her collarbone, still half-asleep. emily carries her over to the changing table, whispering soft reassurances as she lays her down, unzipping her pajamas.
“let’s get you ready, sweetheart.”
aria just hums again, tiny fingers stretching, trusting, letting emily go through the motions.
diaper changed. lotion rubbed in slow, warm circles, making aria sigh softly, the way she always does when emily takes care of her like this. then an outfit—soft cotton leggings, a long-sleeved onesie with tiny flowers embroidered on it.
emily takes a step back, tilting her head.
“hmm,” she hums, considering, before reaching for the tiny hairbrush. “what do we think today, bug? ponytail? pigtails? bow?”
aria blinks at her, still sleepy, sucking lightly on her fingers.
“bo’.”
emily smiles softly. “a bow it is, then.”
she brushes through aria’s fine, dark hair, smoothing it down before clipping a tiny bow at the side of her head.
“perfect,” emily murmurs, adjusting it slightly before lifting her again, settling her on her hip to slip her little shoes on.
aria yawns against her shoulder. “mhm.”
as if emily wasn’t trying hard enough to hide her worry, the daycare drop-off is worse today.
aria is clingy, arms wrapped tight around emily’s neck, little hands fisting her sweater like she knows emily is off today. like something is bugging emmy, and she wants to stay close.
“baby, you gotta let go,” emily murmurs, rubbing slow, soothing circles over her back.
“no..” aria whimpers, burying her face against emily’s neck. “stay…”
emily exhales, closing her eyes for a brief second before pulling back slightly. “seven hugs, okay?”
aria immediately nods. “sev’n.”
emily hugs her tight, presses a kiss to her hair.
one.
again, softer.
two.
three.
four.
aria sniffs, little fingers still tight.
five.
six.
the last one, emily lingers, holding her just a second longer before whispering, “i love you, baby.”
aria sniffles, then finally allows the daycare nanny to gently pull her away, her little hands still reaching as emily steps back. her stomach aches, but she waves, forces a soft smile, then turns—walks away before she can let herself stay.
work feels unreal. like she’s moving through it, but not in it. everything is heavy, but she keeps her head down, keeps her hands busy, forces herself to focus.
but jj notices. jj always notices.
she sits beside her in the briefing room, watching her too closely, her brows furrowing slightly.
“you okay?”
emily doesn’t even look at her. “fine.”
jj keeps watching. “em—”
“drop it,” emily mutters, flipping a page in the case file in front of her.
jj doesn’t push. but she doesn’t stop watching. and emily knows, no matter how much she tries to hold it in, jj won’t let it go forever.
but for now? she buries it.
because what else is she supposed to do?