Never Not You

Mama no go

A/N: a short one showing what happens in the Williamson-Miro house when Leah goes to camp

The house was quiet in the soft, pale stretch of late morning—sunlight warm and drowsy as it spilled across the hallway floorboards. From the bedroom, Leah's low hum drifted out between the half-packed suitcases scattered around her like little clothing explosions. She sat cross-legged on the carpet, folding a training top, then unfolding it because she didn't like the crease, then folding it again with the same resigned sigh she always had before leaving.

Her passport stuck out of a side pocket. Her boots were lined by the door. A neat list sat on the bed with items crossed out, recrossed, and scribbled back in. The room felt a little too big—a little too quiet—despite the soft sounds of her packing.

Then came the familiar sound: the uneven, enthusiastic pat-pat-pat of tiny feet.

Mateo appeared in the doorway like a waddling little penguin, curly hair bouncing, his dino sweatshirt slightly crooked from Aurora's attempts to dress him while he wiggled. He clutched his toy truck by the hood, dragging it behind him as he toddled in.

The moment he spotted his mama on the floor, everything else vanished.

"Mamaaaa!" he chirped, voice high and bright—then his eyes fell on the open suitcase. And stayed there.

He stared.

Then looked at Leah.

Then stared again.

Finally, with a furrow between his brows:
"Wha' doin', Mama?"

Leah paused mid-fold and looked up with a soft smile—the kind that reached her eyes instantly. "Hi, baby," she murmured, opening her arms.

Mateo wasted no time. He scrambled into her lap like a determined little koala, knees digging into her thigh, hands clutching her shirt for balance. Once settled, he pressed both palms to her cheeks and leaned in until their noses almost touched.

Leah laughed quietly, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose.
"I'm packing, bubba. Mama's gotta get ready."

Mateo blinked slowly, processing.

Then: "Packin' fo'... for what?"

Leah hesitated only a second—just long enough to pull him closer, resting his head under her chin. Her hand rubbed lazy circles across his back.

"For work, sweetheart," she said gently. "Mama has to go play football with England again. Remember? Mama's big trip."

Mateo went very still.

Too still.

His fingers curled around the fabric of her shirt, bunching it in his little fists.

He pulled back to look at her, eyes already wide and shiny.
"You... you go?" he whispered, voice wobbly around the edges.

Leah's heart clenched.

She brushed her thumb across his cheek, tucking a curl behind his ear. "Just for a little bit," she said softly. "Two weeks. Then Mama comes right back home to you. Promise."

Mateo's lip trembled.

"T-two week?" He held up one finger, then two, then... five, because counting was still a work in progress. "Dat... dat BIG time, Mama."

Leah swallowed. He wasn't wrong—two weeks felt big to her, too.

"I know, love." She kissed the top of his head. "I'm gonna miss you so, so much."

Mateo pressed his forehead to her chest, little hands holding onto her as if she might float away if he didn't anchor her. His voice was muffled but heartbreakingly small: