Breaking Point

Chapter 9

Zoe sat at her desk in the precinct, her fingers drumming lightly on the surface as she stared at her daughter's name on the daily roster. Lucy Chen. In her professional capacity, she was supposed to focus on the tasks at hand, but today, like so many other days, her thoughts were consumed by worry for Lucy.

It had been months since she'd seen her daughter truly smile, not that thin, strained smile she put on for everyone at work, but a genuine, carefree grin. The kind that used to light up a room. Now, it was as if the light inside Lucy had flickered out, replaced by something far darker.

Zoe sighed heavily, the weight of both motherhood and command pressing down on her. Her office, usually a refuge from the chaos of the precinct, now felt stifling, a constant reminder of the things she couldn't fix.

As a captain, she'd seen her officers go through tough times, but this—this was her daughter. And she was at a loss.

She stood, pacing the small space before finally deciding to do what she had been avoiding for weeks. She had to talk to Lucy. Not as her captain, but as her mother.

Leaving her office, Zoe found Lucy in the breakroom, sipping on a cup of coffee, her eyes distant, lost in thought. She looked thinner than ever, her uniform almost hanging off her slight frame. Zoe's heart twisted painfully in her chest at the sight.

"Lucy," she called softly, her voice careful, not wanting to alarm her. Lucy blinked, pulled from whatever thoughts had been swirling in her mind, and glanced over at her mother. Her eyes flickered briefly with something akin to apprehension. She knew what was coming.

"Hey, Mom," Lucy said, her voice carrying a casualness that felt forced. She sipped her coffee, as if the bitter liquid could somehow anchor her to the moment and deflect the conversation she knew was about to unfold.

Zoe sat down across from her, her fingers lacing together, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in her posture. "Honey, we need to talk."

Lucy shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the breakroom, as if searching for an excuse to leave. But the precinct was quiet, and she was out of distractions.

"I'm fine, Mom," she said automatically, her voice clipped, tired of the same conversation, the same concern that seemed to follow her everywhere these days.

"No, Lucy, you're not," Zoe replied, her voice soft but steady. "I can see it in your eyes. You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You're fading, and I—"

Zoe's voice broke, and she quickly composed herself, not wanting to show too much of her own vulnerability. But it was there, raw and exposed. "I can't stand by and watch you do this to yourself. I'm your mother. I love you. And I need you to let me in."

For a moment, Lucy felt her defenses waver. The vulnerability in her mother's voice cut through her like a knife. But the fear of admitting what was really going on—the truth she had been hiding, even from herself—was paralyzing.

She didn't want to be the broken one, the one who needed saving. She was the cop, the protector, the one who was supposed to hold it together.

"I'm just dealing with some stuff," Lucy said, her tone more dismissive this time. "I'm helping Emily, and it's taking a toll, but it's nothing I can't handle."

Zoe's eyes filled with sorrow, her heart aching with the helplessness of watching her daughter slip further and further away. "Emily needs someone, yes. But so do you, Lucy. Who's helping you?"

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unanswerable. Lucy stared into her coffee, her mind racing. For a split second, she wanted to tell her mother everything—to unload the crushing weight of the anxiety, the eating disorder, the sleepless nights, the constant feeling of drowning in her own mind.

But the walls she had built around herself were thick, reinforced by years of training, years of convincing herself that needing help was weakness.

"I'm fine, Mom," Lucy repeated, her voice colder now, shutting the door on the conversation. She stood up, her movements stiff, as if she were holding herself together by sheer will. "I've got work to do."

Zoe watched her daughter walk away, her heart heavy with the realization that Lucy was slipping further from her reach.

She had always prided herself on her ability to read people, to get to the root of a problem. But with Lucy, it was different. She was her daughter, and no matter how hard Zoe tried to protect her, to save her, she couldn't force Lucy to open up. Not until she was ready.

And Zoe feared that by the time Lucy was ready, it might already be too late.