Mother's Day

Hopefully no one minds this being a couple days late. This is technically a sequel to my other story, Wilde Card, but you don't need to read it to follow along here.

It occurred to me that kids don't really know their moms as well as they think. Our moms have their own thoughts, fears, hopes, worries, and dreams, and don't often share them with us. This one-shot is intended to honor those women who are secret bad-asses, superheroes, and, well in a word: mothers.

Disclaimer: Zootopia is (c) the Disney company. This was not written for profit.

Bonnie Hopps, 2001

Stu was busy with the harvest, so it fell to Bonnie to come to the school. The doe sat outside the principal's office, feeling very much like a schoolkid again, even though she had a loving husband, a thriving business, and at least 300 children to call her own. Stu tried, bless him, he really did. He loved each of their children equally, but as much as he tried to deny it, he had his favorites. As did Bonnie, of course, as cruel as it was to say. She looked down at the bunny in the chair next to her and sighed inwardly.

Judy. God bless her little girl. Bless her little heart. Big heart, rather, because it took a lot for such a tiny little thing to stand up to a big, bad bully. It wasn't the first time the Hopps's had been called down to the school because of Judy's fighting. What was unusual was that this fight hadn't happened because Judy was protecting someone else. She was protecting herself.

Both bunnies' ears perked up to hear the raised voices coming from behind the principal's closed door. Bonnie frowned. Amos Grey was at it again. Did that fox never give up? He wasn't the brightest bulb in the lamp. And Lord knows he couldn't pour piss out of a boot if there were instructions on the heel, she thought unforgivingly. Then she felt guilty for thinking it. Or at least thought she should feel guilty.

The door to Principal O'Hara's office opened and allowed Amos Grey to exit, with his son Gideon in tow. The elder fox gave Bonnie a dismissive look, followed by a sneering grin. Bonnie felt her cheeks and ears grow hot from the blush. He still thought he could get to her. Well...he was actually right about that. Predators bothered her, a lot, especially foxes, and especially foxes like Amos Grey. The two foxes passed them, the younger of the two smirking in Judy's direction.

"Mrs. Hopps?" the principal called. "A word, please."

Oh, Lord. Even as a wife and mother, Principal O'Hara could put the fear of God into her. He wasn't like other prey that she had ever known, but then hares were a different breed entirely. Rabbits like her were known to be skittish and fearful. Hares, well, they were willing to take more risks. The term "Mad as a March hare" existed for a reason. Bonnie glanced down at her daughter as the little bunny followed her into the office, and wondered not for the first time if it was possible that there may have been some hare in the family tree.

She and Judy sat on the other side of O'Hara's desk, both subconsciously trying yet failing to remain strong under the hare's discerning gaze. He was an older hare, had been a teacher when Bonnie was Judy's age, and now served as a much-respected principal. Bonnie had always held him in high esteem, just like everyone else in Bunnyburrow.

"So," he began after the door had closed, "We had a little incident."

Incident? More like my daughter was assaulted! she wanted to say. But she held back, because it was rude to talk that way to your elders and betters.

Judy, it seemed, had yet to learn that lesson. "It was Gideon Grey!" she said forcefully. "He's been bullying me and the other kids! He's been saying mean things, and doing mean things, and it's not right!"

"Judy," Bonnie said gently to calm her down. Where had that girl gotten that spunk? Certainly not her side of the family. "Sorry about that, Mr. O'Hara, please continue."

The principal didn't look offended at the interruption, no doubt he was used to it given he worked with children on a daily basis. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Mrs. Hopps. Your little Judy here got herself into a fight with Gideon Grey. Now, you know violence of any kind is unacceptable, so punishment is in order."

"Of course." It pained her to punish any of her children, but rules were rules, and fighting was just wrong. That was how her parents taught her: every action has a consequence. The consequence of fighting in school (well, in her day it was just a bloodied nose or a black eye and that would be the end of it) was detention.

"A week's detention, during recess," the principal declared.

"And Gideon too?" Bonnie asked.

"No, he will not be in detention. His father and I came to an agreement."

Bonnie clenched her paws around her purse strap, but otherwise sat perfectly still. "Judy? Wait outside for me, but don't go far." She made sure her tone left no room for argument. The mother doe kept her eye on the older hare as Judy slid down from her chair and stepped out of the office, quietly closing the door behind her. Bonnie took in a deep breath and somehow managed to keep calm.

"Why is Gideon not in trouble?" she asked.

O'Hara seemed to understand the reason for her question. He replied, "No one saw the alleged bullying. Everyone did see Judy attack him, though. If evidence of previous bullying comes forward, we'll amend our decision."

Not that anyone will come forward, Bonnie thought, But you already knew that, didn't you? This was troubling. Judy was not a troublemaker, none of her children were. They could sometimes be a handful, sure, but with so many kids underfoot that wasn't unusual. Bonnie looked over her shoulder and out the window at Amos Grey's retreating back. As if he could sense it, the burly fox turned to look back at her and gave her a victorious smirk. It made her blood boil. Something needed to be done about him. But who would do something?

"I wish I could tell you," O'Hara said, "All the things that kid has dealt with already in his little life. I have a soft spot for him, he's really very nice. I'll talk to him."

"Seems he's been getting a lot of talkin' to's," she said stiffly, "But that doesn't change the behavior."

He steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on his desk. Bonnie knew what he was doing. He did it back when he was a teacher and needed to intimidate an unruly student into behaving. It bothered her that he used the same tactic on her, a grown doe and wife and mother. Bonnie struggled not to fidget under the hare's stern gaze. "I'm sure you know just how serious this is, Mrs. Hopps," he began, "This school has a zero tolerance policy for bullying—"

"So why aren't you punishing the bully?" She knew it was rude to interrupt, but this was one of those times where it felt justified. "Gideon Grey is a known bully, and Judy's not his first victim. Goodness knows she won't be the last."

"I understand your concern," the hare said, "But the fact is Judy did hit him."

Bonnie opened her mouth to argue this point, but held back when she had to accept the truth of his statement. Judy had hit him, but that was just how things were done here. In a big city school like in Zootopia, she could see her daughter getting into trouble for fighting, but not here. Here, out in the country, disagreements were settled either on the playground or out in the field, and that was just how things were done. "She was provoked," she finally said. "Doesn't that account for something?"

"It does," he agreed, "And I'm aware of previous complaints against him. No one has made a formal complaint, however. His discipline issues have been brought up to his parents and they assured us they would take care of it."

"Well they haven't," she said before she could stop herself, "So consider this as a formal complaint—"

"I'm afraid that's not how it works," O'Hara said sadly. "Look, I know Judy is a good kid and a gifted student. It pains me to say this, but this is very out of character for her, and she will need to face the consequences before it becomes an issue. This is a first occurrence, so I think a week's worth of detention should do it."

Bonnie's cheeks and ears burned with indignation. "And what about Gideon?"

"He's a special case," he insisted, "I'm aware of his situation, he has a very disruptive home life. Things of this nature require some...subtlety."

Subtlety? More like you're too scared of Amos to ever do anything about it. "So you're punishing the victim," she said, raising her voice, "But the one who caused it gets to walk away with a slap on the wrist?"

"Gideon is the victim," O'Hara said. "You're lucky his parents don't want to press charges. And by all means, Mrs. Hopps, keep being disruptive and your child will be suspended. Are we clear?"

Bonnie clenched her jaw but said nothing. Judy was in enough trouble without her mother causing more of it. And for such a bright young student, a blemish on her permanent record would be catastrophic. She couldn't do that to her. Bonnie finally sighed and said in defeat, "Alright, I'll talk to her."

"You'll have to do a great deal more than talk to her," the hare admonished.

She couldn't stop herself: "Did you say that to Amos Grey, too?" She let that hang in the air and paused only long enough to see the hare's face turn red before she quickly gathered her purse and said in passing, "That's what I thought. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. O'Hara. I'll take care of it." She didn't give him a chance to respond and stepped out of the office, all but slamming the door behind her.

Sitting slumped down in a chair outside the principal's office, Judy looked absolutely miserable. And now she looked worried upon seeing her mother leaving that office in such a state. Her mother felt a wave of pity mingled with guilt. Did she think she was mad at her? Perhaps that's for the best, Bonnie thought. Bad-mouthing her principal or teachers would erode the lessons she taught her about respecting her elders and betters.

"Judith," she said firmly, "It's time to go home." Wordlessly, Judy followed behind her, ears drooped low over her shoulders.

Amos Grey was waiting for them outside with Gideon at his side. The younger fox made faces at Judy, blatantly taunting her in full view of the adults. Bonnie caught movement out of the corner of her eye in the principal's office window. She knew he was watching. Coward. To be fair to O'Hara, she was feeling rather fearful herself.

If Bonnie had not already been brought up to fear foxes, Amos Grey would have validated all those fears and even given her several more. He was just the worst, she thought. A walking, talking embodiment of all the bad things a fox could be. It was outwardly charming, but secretly vindictive. The rabbit had once felt sympathy for little Gideon, until he started mirroring his father. At the time, Bonnie had never heard the term "malignant narcissist." By the time Judy would be an adult, she would know, and she would agree that Amos fit the definition to the letter.

"I hope you give that girl a good whippin'," the fox drawled. "Ain't right for a lil lady bein' so uppity."

"I will discipline my daughter as I see fit, thank you very much." What had gotten into her? Bonnie was not like this, and had never been like this. What on earth had happened?

"Well lookit this, Gid," Amos sneered, "This 'un's got teeth." As if to emphasize his point, he pulled his thin lips back to show off his sharp canines. Bonnie felt an unwelcome chill shoot up her spine. Her ears fell back and her nose began to twitch. Then she frowned when Amos started to laugh. "What's the matter, Hopps? You scared? You scared of the big bad fox?"

She squared her shoulders and said the first thing that came to mind: "I'm scared alright. Scared that halitosis is contagious." She allowed herself a little smile when she heard Judy stifle a giggle. It took Amos a moment or two to realize she had insulted him, and when he did, he spat on the ground between her feet.

"Think you're so smart with those four-dollar words, Hopps? You ain't foolin' nobody. Yer just a dumb bunny, like all y'all. And if'n I want advice about bakin' pies or kissin' boo-boos, I'll ask you. 'Til then, you best keep yer 'pinions to yerself."

"You should take your own advice. Have a blessed day, Amos, Gideon."

"You'll learn, bunny," he said as a parting shot. "That girl tussles with my boy ever again, she'll learn the hard way. How ya like that, Hopps?"

Bonnie felt the fox's eyes on her as she walked away. Reflexively, she grasped Judy's paw and walked just a little faster to the truck.

Helen Wilde, 1996

Dr. Kovacks was in rare form today. The elephant chief of medicine was easily the most arrogant, selfish, condescending bastard in the entire history of Sacred Heart Hospital of Tundra Town. And Helen Wilde had to suck up to him for the sake of her job.

"Stay on your toes," Laurie warned her, "Kovacks had a fight with his wife last night."

"So a regular Tuesday, then?" the young vixen asked flatly. Her beaver coworker stifled a giggle as the doctor in question lumbered past, taking up the majority of the hallway as he led a group of attending physicians in his wake. Though each of them would have gladly kissed the ground he walked on, Helen knew that every single last one of them hated the bull elephant. In fact, it was a common game to see which of them could come up with the most creative way to get rid of him.

"Did you hear what he did with the patient in 130?" Laurie continued. "Girl, I thought Meg was gonna strangle him with that IV."

"That bad?" Helen asked as she filed patient forms. "What'd he do?"

"Oh you know, the usual: Meg's been lookin' over that patient right? She knows that case backwards and forwards, and Good Ole' Bob comes in and starts prescribin' without even looking at the chart."

"More antibiotics?" the vixen guessed.

"Yes, ma'am," the beaver nodded, accepting the completed forms from Helen to file away.

"Isn't that the patient with the viral form of…"

"Sure is."

Helen rolled her eyes and finished filing away the folders before stepping back over to her chair behind the nurse's station. Her little nook wasn't as well decorated or personalized as other nurses had it: at one time, it had been full of little gifts and curios that Redd had given her over the years. She threw them all out after the divorce. All that was left was a little crayon drawing Nick had drawn when he was in kindergarten. Even at twelve, he still didn't have much artistic talent, but it was certainly the thought that counted. Helen smiled at the crudely drawn picture of her wearing a nurse's uniform. Some days in this dump, it made her wonder why on earth she ever thought of being a nurse. It was the little things – like Nick's drawing – that made it worth it.

"Heads up," Laurie warned. Helen quickly pulled out some paperwork in an effort to look busy as Kovacks walked by again, sans the group of attending physicians. "Nurse van Dam, where are the records for the patient in 302?"

"Right in front of you, sir," Helen said without looking up.

"Nurse Wilde," he snapped, "When I want you to say something, I'll ask you directly. In the meantime, learn to do what you're told."

Helen swallowed down the lump in her throat and willed back the tears. "Yes, Dr. Kovacks," she quietly replied.

The elephant noted the folder by his hoof and opened it to glance over the patient's chart. Helen knew it by heart, but she doubted Kovacks even so much as glanced at a patient for longer than a few minutes at best. For years she had told herself that perhaps he wasn't such a bad guy, really. He had a stressful job, it was well known that his home life was less than ideal, and he had to make a lot of tough calls that other mammals probably couldn't handle. Being Chief of Medicine for a major metropolitan hospital had to be difficult. Especially since the elephant had to answer to the Board of Directors for every decision concerning the hospital.

"Nurse Wilde, did you finish—"

Helen wordlessly handed him the forms he had had asked her to complete that morning. "Yes sir, and they have been signed, faxed, and filed. These copies are for your records—"

"Do not interrupt me," he snapped. "You're lucky you even have a job here, so I would drop the attitude, missy."

Redd would've told her to tell Kovacks where to go and what to do with himself on the way there. But Helen was above that.

"No wonder you're divorced," the elephant added under his breath.

Helen clenched her fists under the desk, only slacking off when she felt her claws digging into her palm. She saw Laurie watching her out of the corner of her eye. The other nurses, and even a couple patients in the hall, had overheard the elephant's comment. The vixen decided to take the high road. Even though she was so heavily tempted to go low. "Will there be anything else, sir?" she asked meekly.

"Not right now." He slapped the folder back onto her desk. "We'll find a way to keep you busy."

She bit down on her tongue so hard she thought she could taste blood. As if a twelve-hour shift taking care of dozens of patients at once, because he refused to hire another nurse, wasn't keeping her busy enough. This was the first time in eight hours she had even sat down. He had no idea what she did, and he never cared to know. He was a selfish, egotistical, coldhearted—

"Help! Somebody help! We need a doctor!"

Helen perked up when the couple ran through the doors into the ER. They were a pair of bighorn sheep, a male and female, the latter clutching a shaking bundle in her arms. The big male with an impressive set of curved horns barged past the waiting area and front desk and marched straight up to Kovacks. "We need to see a doctor, now."

Displeased at being interrupted, the elephant sniffed, "You'll have to wait your turn like everyone else. Go sit down."

"We've been here an hour!" the male shouted. "My daughter is sick, and you need to look at her!"

"Please, sir, we need help!" the mother pleaded with him, clutching her baby close. "She has a fever—"

"Ma'am," Kovacks said condescendingly, "I assure you, everything is fine. Give her some acetaminophen and some fluids, and she'll be fine."

"Listen to her!" the husband shouted. "She's coughing so much she can't breathe! Her fever is 102, and she's not even a year old! Do something!"

Helen watched helplessly as the two bighorns waited for the doctor's orders. They were expecting mercy from him. Helen knew better.

"Do you have insurance?" the elephant asked.

The father shook with rage. "What the hell does that have to do with it?!"

"So the answer's no," Kovacks said dismissively. "Sir, I'm afraid Sacred Heart can't accommodate patients without insurance."

"Treat our daughter! Now!" He looked ready to take on a fully grown bull elephant, no small task, but Helen recognized that this father would do anything for his child. Being a mother herself, she could see herself in his situation, she knew how desperate he had to be, how terrified he was. God forbid something like this happened to Nick, she would feel the same way, and feel just as powerless, if not more so.

"Give her to me."

Kovacks and the sheep turned to look at her. The mother bighorn didn't hesitate, and ran forward to thrust her coughing daughter into the vixen's arms. "Oh thank you, thank you so much! Please, do something!"

"Alright, deep breaths," the vixen said soothingly to her. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves before taking the baby into her arms. "Let's take a look…" Helen intentionally ignored the elephant's glare as she listened to the infant's lungs and heart. The busy ER faded away as she went into what Redd used to call "Nurse Mode," the one time Helen was able to forget everything else around her and focus on just the patient. As she observed the child, she noted each symptom, everything that seemed out of the ordinary, even if it seemed benign. There was the high fever of course, easily 102 or 103, which could be catastrophic for anyone so young. There was the uncontrolled cough that shook the infant's tiny body, and rapid yet shallow breathing with a wheezing sound around the flared nostrils. Then she noticed the blue hue around the lips and other parts of the face. This child truly was having difficulty breathing.

Then everything clicked. It was like putting a puzzle together: all the parts came together and Helen knew exactly what they were working with. "When did she start exhibiting symptoms?"

"Last night, but it got worse a couple hours ago," the mother said.

"So very sudden symptoms?"

"Yes, less than a day."

"Any vomiting?"

"Yes, that's what made us come here. High fever and vomiting, we came right away."

Helen noted the flaring nostrils as the baby struggled to breathe, her little chest sinking and stomach rising as she breathed what little she could, and finally the rapid heartbeat…

"Bacterial pneumonia," the vixen announced. "She needs a chest X-ray or a blood test to be sure, but I'll bet my job that it's pneumonia. Don't worry, it's treatable, antibiotics and IV fluid, she should get better very quickly," she said to the mother's visible relief. "But we need to get her to Pediatrics right away."

The rest of it was a blur. She vaguely remembered calling up to her fellow nurses in the Pediatric ward, getting a bed and incubator set up to help the child breathe. She remembered barking at someone to get an IV and antibiotics. She remembered one of the attending physicians confirming the diagnosis, and the next thing she remembered was placing the IV line and taking a deep breath as the little lamb settled down into the incubator.

The parents were huddled together over the incubator, clutching each other's hooves and trying hard not to cry. Their worry was evident, she could feel it emanating off them. She could also feel Kovacks's glare boring into the back of her head.

"Nurse Wilde, you will step away from that bed right now," he ordered.

Helen then did something she never thought she would do. She turned on him, teeth bared, and said one word: "No."

She turned away before she could see his expression, but her focus was no longer on her boss. The little lamb's breathing was getting weaker, her pulse racing. Helen checked her signs again. The child was coughing uncontrollably, shaking, too exhausted between coughs and wheezing breaths to cry. That was when she heard it. The child coughed, a deep, wet cough. Helen let out a sigh of relief. Lung infections were dangerous, especially in someone so young. Coughing up mucus was a good sign. Even already, the baby's breathing started to stabilize, and the pulse slowed just a bit, a welcome respite from the racing heartbeat that had so alarmed her parents.

Helen smiled at them. "She'll be okay. It looks like the antibiotics will take care of the rest."

The mother bighorn let out a relieved sob and reached out to hug her. The vixen returned the gesture, knowing her fellow mother needed this. "Thank you," the sheep said. "Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to us."

"I'm just doing my job." How many times had she said that to a patient? Countless times. She wasn't trying to be modest, it was the truth. This was her job, and she didn't see it in any other way. The vixen helped the mother sit in a rocking chair next to the incubator and offered to get her a cup of tea. Before she could leave, she felt a hoof gently touch her shoulder. She looked up into the wan yet smiling face of the father.

"I don't know how I can ever thank you," he said. "If there's anything I can do for you, please, never hesitate to ask," he said, handing her a business card.

Helen just smiled and repeated, "I'm just doing my job." She accepted the card anyway, and slipped it into her pocket to read later.

"Speaking of, that reminds me...Dr. Kovacks?" the male bighorn said, turning to the elephant with a stony expression. "You have made a terrible mistake."

Taken aback by the sudden change in the ram's demeanor, the elephant blustered, "What mistake?"

The ram handed him another business card, the anger hidden just below the surface of his carefully crafted expression. "My name is Russell Burnram, I'm an attorney. By law, you are required to treat any patient in the ER, regardless of insurance status. By refusing to treat my daughter, you have committed child endangerment, and legal action will be taken." He paused to let it sink in. "You have broken the law, sir, and rest assured I will file a police report, and you will be served papers before the end of the week. Now get the hell out of this room before I do something we'll both regret."

Kovacks shook with rage, crumpling the business card in his massive hoof. Helen knew this was as good a time as any to leave the room, and quickly slipped out. The mother may not have wanted a cup of tea, but Helen sure could use one. Her paws shook as she reached for a teabag and a Styrofoam cup. She had never stood up to Kovacks like that; like everyone else at Sacred Heart, they treated his word was law, and he could do no wrong. Even if the staff had to clean up after his messes all the time. Deep down, she knew that her refusal to follow orders would come back to haunt her. She had no idea just how soon that would happen.

"Nurse Wilde."

Her shoulders stiffened and the fur on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew that tone, and had only ever heard it before something awful happened, usually to someone else. It was her turn now. Calmly, she set the cup down and turned to look up at her boss. The pachyderm was furious, his fist clenched around the useless business card the bighorn had given him. Red-faced, he gritted out two words in the middle of that busy hallway, in front of patients and coworkers:

"You're fired."

Helen felt her stomach drop and her heart started pounding. It had finally happened. He had finally fired her, something he had sworn to do innumerable times. Helen's mind reeled with the immediate thoughts: What will I do? What will we do for money? How will we pay the rent? Or food? How will we keep the lights on? She couldn't go on unemployment because she had been fired. How would they get by? If Redd were still in the picture…

That made her freeze. Redd. Her heart was still pounding, her pulse throbbing in her head, roaring in her ears. Her stomach twisted into tighter knots and she felt tears stinging her eyes. But she wasn't sad, or scared. She was angry.

Angry that her first thought after the normal fears was asking her deadbeat ex-husband for help. Angry for the position that bastard put her in. Angry that he had done nothing to help, not even a single dime of child support, which she knew he would never pay.

She was also angry thinking of the years she had spent at Sacred Heart. She was angry thinking of the days, weeks, months, years of constant verbal abuse, emotional scars from living in fear of this giant mammal who held such sway over her life. He held her life in his hooves, and he knew it. He had unbridled power in this hospital, and reigned uncontested, his power almost absolute. And she was angry at him for his abuse of power. And she was angry at herself, for putting up with it for so long.

"Fine."

Kovacks looked surprised. She turned her glare up to him, stood tall, and calmly removed her badge. She fought the urge to throw it in his face, and simply handed it to him. The elephant paused, clearly not expecting her calm reaction. Did he expect tears? Pleas for him to reconsider? Did he expect her to beg? Over my dead body. When he finally took the badge, Helen replied, "Thank you for the opportunity to work here. I wish you well."

Asshole, she inwardly added as she grabbed her purse and walked to the exit. She walked out of that hospital with a straight spine, head held high, even though she felt the weight of all the worry starting to push down on her slim shoulders. But she wasn't going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her fall so far.

Bonnie Hopps, 2001

Another day, another fight. Being in detention had done nothing, as Bonnie could have very well told anyone who cared to listen. The administration wasn't listening, the principal wasn't listening, and she doubted the Board of Education would even care. They didn't get involved in minor things like this.

Once again, Stu's responsibilities on the farm meant that this was Bonnie's problem instead. She was beginning to get a little irritated about that. Why wasn't he chipping in? Marriage and parenting was a partnership, wasn't it? When would he start to pull his own weight in the parenting? (Then she felt guilty for thinking it; Lord knew he had enough on his plate, and cared something awful for each one of his kids.)

What was worse was that Bonnie was starting to hold this against her daughter too. Judy had been provoked by Gideon Grey, again, only this time she wasn't the intended victim. She had stood up to him because he was bullying another classmate. It wasn't anything really dangerous, what he was doing: teasing, name-calling, a little light shoving, but nothing really serious. He was intimidating the other kids, which while wrong, was not anyone else's responsibility but the teacher's. The teacher who was supposed to be there to keep things like this from happening. The teacher who never saw any of Gideon's activities but sure noticed when Judy acted out.

Today, when Judy got home from school, Bonnie was waiting for her. The other kids settled into the kitchen for an afternoon snack before working on their homework. The Hopps matriarch pulled her errant daughter aside for a good talking to. O'Hara had called her personally and used the S-word – Suspension – very clearly. The hardest part now, aside from punishing her daughter yet again for the same behavior, was trying to talk her out of policing the playground.

Judy, naturally, didn't see it her way. "Mom, I'm just doing the right thing! What is so wrong with that?"

"Because it's not your fight!" her mother argued. What was so hard for her to understand? Couldn't she see that she was just trying to help her?

Judy didn't give in. "Mom, what he's doing is wrong. Someone needs to stand up to him!"

"And it won't be you," Bonnie sternly replied. They had an audience now, which was not so unusual in a burrow full of kits, but this was an uncomfortable audience, half enraptured with all the zeal of watching a car crash and the other half intentionally avoiding looking her way. Judy ignored all of them, and clenched her little fists.

"Then who? Who will stand up?"

Bonnie was getting tired of this argument. Where had Judy gotten the stubbornness? It certainly wasn't her side of the family. "Someone bigger," she finally said, turning back to look at the other children, some of whom looked to be on Judy's side. Her next words she said as much for their benefit as for Judy's. "Someone else will stop him. You're so small, Judy, and fighting is not what this family does. You getting into fights like this...you'll just get yourself hurt." She glanced down at her daughter and felt the weight of her own words as they sank heavily upon the kit's thin shoulders. Bonnie sighed and knelt in front of her daughter. Tucking a finger under the quivering chin, she gently raised Judy's chin until they were eye to eye. "I only want what's best for you."

Judy didn't look convinced. "Sure. Okay."

"Judy."

"It's fine," the kit said. "I have homework to do."

"Judy!" But she was already gone, disappeared into the sea of her siblings so deep that Bonnie could no longer see her. The mother was sure if she looked hard enough, she could see the droopy ears. But the needs of her other two hundred seventy-five children had to take precedence now, and she had dozens of hungry faces looking back at her.

Sometimes, Bonnie wondered how different motherhood would've been with only one child. Then she felt guilty for ever thinking of it. Yet she still wondered.

Helen Wilde, 1996

Helen hesitated outside her door, keys in her paw. She was poised to unlock the door, step inside to the empty apartment, somehow pull herself together long enough to figure out a way to explain this to Nick. Figure out how to manage on savings, and how long they could survive on that. She needed a plan, and she needed it now. Mourning and moping could wait until after she figured out what she was doing.

Straightening her back, the vixen turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. To her surprise, Nick was already home, sitting on the couch watching TV and having a snack.

"You're home early," she said.

"So are you," her twelve-year-old shrewdly said.

"Why are you home early?" she asked, hoping to avoid this conversation just a bit longer.

"Marking period's over. We had a half day. My report card's on the counter, like you wanted," he explained, then dipped another celery stalk in the open jar of peanut butter he held in his lap. How many times had she told him to use a butter knife? And how many times had she told him to only eat at the table and never on the couch? But Helen let it slide, just this once. And Nick noticed. "Are you okay, Mom?"

She forced a smile. Her smiles never reached her eyes, so it wasn't hard to convince him that everything was fine. "Yes, I just came home early because I wasn't feeling well. I think I just need to take a nap, and I'll be fine."

That wasn't a good answer. Nick turned off the TV and set his snack aside. "Mom, are you sure you're okay? I can call a doctor…"

And how would we afford it, without insurance? she wondered. She shook her head. One crisis at a time. "Sweetie, I'm fine. Now go do your homework."

"But we didn't have homework today."

"Then practice your French. Yes, French," she added when he rolled his eyes and groaned.

"I'd rather do algebra…" he muttered. Bless him, the boy actually liked math, always had. It probably went back to when he was a toddler, and Redd taught him how to count and make change using actual coins and money. Nick could calculate percentages and decimals in his head by age six. He was gifted, she knew that much, and he got good grades when he tried. But he absolutely loathed languages.

"When am I ever gonna need to know French?" he griped, sulking as pre-teens do.

"In case some pretty little vixen comes along," she teased, "And you want to make her like you."

"Mom, ew."

"No? You don't like girls?" The thought of him growing up so quickly was even more heartbreaking than she expected. If only you could be my little kit just a bit longer…

"No, I like 'em," he said as he reached into his bag for his notecards. "Just...French? Why can't I take Spanish like everyone else?"

"Count your blessings," she said, "It could've been German." She shuddered to think of her own foray into learning a language. She had barely lasted a month in her German class before she switched to French. "Now practice your vocabulary."

Nick collected his snack and set himself up at the kitchen table, still munching on his peanut butter on celery sticks. Watching him eat made the anxious churning in her gut return. What were they going to do? Losing Redd's income – sparse that it was – was hard enough, how would they survive?

The phone rang, and it filled her with dread. Determined to not let her son see something was wrong, she picked up the receiver and prepared for the worst. "Hello?"

"Helen? Oh god, honey, are you okay?"

Laurie. "What are you doing?" she hissed, "What if Kovacks catches you?"

"Screw him. He just can't do something like that, it's not fair! Just because some lawyer threatened to sue him…"

"Laurie, it doesn't matter," the vixen said. "He's probably blacklisted me, like he's done to all the others."

"Helen, honey, you're not the first person he's...let go," she said diplomatically. "Not all of them could have given up medicine. Matter of fact, a few years ago there was this young attending who told him…"

"It doesn't matter," Helen said. "I'll have to find my own way."

"Can your mom help?"

She hadn't thought of that, mostly because she didn't want to. Her mother lived on a fixed income, and it didn't feel right asking her for money. "I don't think so."

"What about your ex?"

"I'm going to let you go," she said quickly, "If he catches you talking to me, you could be next. Take care of yourself, Laurie." She hung up before Laurie could get in another word. It was probably for the best to cut all ties to Sacred Heart. Kovacks was notoriously vindictive, as she had learned firsthand. He even had a List, with a capital L, of former personnel he had fired and blacklisted from ever working at another hospital within two hundred miles. Helen's mind was already racing. And Nick was already listening.

"Did you lose your job?"

Her reaction probably answered his question more than her words could. She turned back to him and saw that, despite his age, he was far savvier than many adults she knew. He would go places. He wouldn't let any of this hold him back, no matter what Redd's influence.

No, stop thinking about Redd. He has nothing to do with this, and never will.

Helen sat down at the table opposite her son and sighed. "Yes. Dr. Kovacks fired me."

"Why?"

"Because I helped a patient who didn't have health insurance."

"Was the patient dying?"

"She could have." She would be forever haunted by the sounds of that baby's shallow breathing and violent coughs, and the blue face and chills…

"Quel salaud."

It took Helen a couple seconds before she recalled, with horror, what those words translated to. "Nicholas!" she rebuked.

"But he is!" he argued. "And he's a fils de pute."

"Young tod! Where did you learn that language?"

"You said you wanted me to learn French." His smug grin fell when she rested her head in her paws. "I learned it from Finnick."

"Who?"

"This fennec kid who goes to the high school. He likes French rap."

Before she could ask why on earth her son was hanging out with some high-schooler she had never met, someone knocked at her door. Was it always so busy at this time of day? When she opened the door, she was relieved to see a friendly face. "Molly."

"Oh Helen, honey," the weasel said, stepping over to hug her. "My sister called, she works at Sacred Heart, remember?"

"Of course. How is Beth?"

"She's fine, but she told me what happened. You poor thing! And that Kovacks, what a…"

"Connard."

"Nicholas, so help me God that better be the last one…" She sighed and invited her weasel neighbor inside. "Thank you for coming over."

"I had to, this is just awful. I'm so sorry. First Redd, and now this...you're too good a person for this to happen. You know around here they call you Saint Helen?"

"They do not."

"You bet they do!" said the weasel as she sat next to her on the sofa. Molly Swift and her husband Rich had been her neighbors since before Nick was born, and had been longtime friends of Redd. Helen was happy to say, however, that they had largely sided with her in the divorce, and she relied on them perhaps too much. The female weasel gently grasped the vixen's paw. "I'll keep an ear to the ground and find someplace that's hiring a nurse. You have a good reputation. You'll land on your feet, you'll see. You always do."

She wished she had Molly's faith. Finally fearing she would burst into tears with Nick present, she reached into her purse for a tissue only to feel her fingers brush against a firm piece of paper at the bottom of her bag. She pulled it out and realized it was the business card for that bighorn sheep she had helped. F. Russell Burnram, Attorney at Law, Family Law Practice. So he was a lawyer after all. She wondered if he would follow through on his threat to sue. She hoped so. She would. Then the idea struck her, and she went to pick up the phone. She hesitated. Why should she call him? She had no business doing so, and even if she somehow found the money to pay him, suing Kovacks for unlawful termination would take years, if not longer, and being a fox she was sure no judge would take her side. Because who would trust the word of a fox?

Molly had seen the card over her shoulder. "Looks like you have friends in high places."

The vixen shook her head and pocketed the card again. "No I don't. If I did, I wouldn't be worrying so much about the future."

"Don't lose faith," the weasel said before she hugged her. "There's a Plan. Remember, the Good Lord only gives you what you can handle."

Helen's anxieties reared their ugly heads again and she shuddered. Then He must think I'm a superhero.

Bonnie Hopps, 2001

Bonnie put her toothbrush down and checked her teeth one last time before bed. A day spent getting the kids up and out the door to school, plus helping Stu on the farm, plus attending to the increasing incidents at the school, and cooking three meals a day for hundreds of growing bunnies, had utterly exhausted her. Most days it was a very welcome exhaustion, a satisfied one, knowing you had made the most of your day. Today it as a heavy, suffocating exhaustion, and Bonnie dreaded what morning would bring.

Would Judy get called to the principal's office again? How many detentions could one little girl get? Bonne expected such behavior from any number of her boys, not one of her daughters. But Judy had always been different. Even in the womb, that girl had given her nothing but grief, up at all hours of the night, kicking like a March Hare, and it was some small miracle that the birth had been easy and mercifully quick. Even from birth, that girl never slowed down. Where did she get that wanderlust? Certainly not from her side of the family.

Bonnie thought of Stu, or anyone in his family, possibly leaving Bunnyburrow to go on some grand adventure, maybe to the big city. Maybe even as far as Zootopia. She snorted. Right, as if Stu would go much farther than the outskirts of town if he could avoid it. Then where did Judy get that spirit? What made her so different from her siblings?

Stu entered the bedroom and started undressing for bed. Bonnie watched him through the open doorway, studying the nightly ritual: he would come in, hat in hand, and hang it on the hook by the bedroom door. Then he would unhook the overalls, remove the grease- and sweat-stained shirt, and begin brushing out his fur as he reached for his pajamas. Halfway through his nightly ritual, Stu noticed she was watching him. He stared back at her for a moment, then sighed tiredly.

"Wish I could, Honey Bun, but I'm bushed."

Bonnie blushed and looked away. What was it about him that had her heart racing even after so many years and so many babies? Moments like this, she still felt like that schoolgirl who caught his eye at the Carrot Days Festival. My, how that buck made her feel…

"T-That's not what I...Stu, could we talk?"

Now he looked alarmed. "Did I do something? Did I not do something? Oh jeez, what did I forget?"

Bonnie smiled fondly and stepped back into their bedroom to kiss his cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong, Stu. I'm worried about Judy."

"Judy? Why, is she sick?"

Bless him, but he could be clueless. Bonnie dove in. "She's getting into fights at school, says she's trying to stop a bully, but she's getting in trouble every time."

"And let me guess: the bully gets a slap on the wrist?"

Other times, he could be on the ball, bless his heart. "If that," she said as she sank into the mattress. "I'm worried, Stu. I don't know where this came from."

"Probably your side of the family," he said. Bonnie shot him a look, but he was clueless once again. Sometimes he didn't think before he spoke, which was sometimes endearing, sometimes irritating. A few of the kids seemed to have inherited that trait.

"She did not get it from my side of the family," she argued. "Name one of my relatives that's a fighter like that."

"You."

His answer caught her off guard. "Me? What the heck are you talking about?"

Now in his pajamas, Stu pulled back the covers and sat next to his wife. He took her paw and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You remember why I fell in love with you?"

She was a little confused, and impatient from the tangent. "You said I had the prettiest eyes of any doe you've ever seen."

"And that's still true," he said as she blushed, "But I fell in love with you because of your spirit. Let's face it, I'm a pretty laid-back guy, so I needed someone like you to give me a good 'ole kick when I needed it. That, and there's your blue ribbon rhubarb pie…"

"Oh for Heaven's sake…" she muttered as she rolled her eyes.

He cupped her cheek and turned her to face him. "You have a lot of spirit, and you're so resilient. Yes, yes you are," he said in answer to her dubious expression. "Bon-bon, you're more resilient than you think. You're tough, you're strong, and you're a real go-getter. Sure, you don't take any risks, but neither of us do. That's just who we are."

"But what about Judy?" she asked. "Aren't you worried?"

"Oh I'm terrified," he admitted. "Mingled worry and terror. And I'm upset, sure. But what can we do?"

"Keep our daughter in check before she gets herself hurt or expelled!" she pleaded. Stu looked troubled, then asked, "Who's the bully?"

"Gideon Grey."

Stu frowned, but didn't say anything. Now he could see the conundrum. "Have you tried talking to her about this?"

"I tried, but she just won't listen." Bonnie fisted the hem of her nightgown and leaned into his hug. "Gideon is a bully just like his daddy, no denying that. But he's so much bigger than her, and so much meaner." She finally gave voice to the one thought she had tried to avoid all day: "Someone needs to paddle that boy good."

Stu nodded in agreement. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Amos could use a few whacks himself."

Bonnie giggled at the thought of Amos Grey getting paddled like a naughty schoolboy. Though a good punch in the nose would be just as effective, she thought. If only someone would stand up to him.

"But we can't do anything," Stu continued, "Amos holds all the power here, and folks respect him."

"No, they fear him," she said. And it was true. Those foxes were notorious enough given their species, but it said something that there wasn't a mammal living in Bunnyburrow that would tangle with either of them. Except for one small, spunky little bunny, there wasn't a single animal that wouldn't get pushed around so easily. But why did it have to be Judy? "Maybe she's right...in a way," she said. "Someone needs to stand up to him. But who?"

"I dunno, Bon. But it'll be someone else. Anyhow," he said, kissing her forehead, "Can't fix it tonight. Best get some sleep, and we'll figure it out in the morning." Stu turned off the light and was asleep within minutes. But Bonnie stared up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep for at least another hour before exhaustion finally caused her to drift off.

Helen Wilde, 1996

Twenty dollars. That was all she had. Twenty dollars to last for one week. Helen raised her verdant eyes to the doorway in front of her and felt a familiar weight on her chest, pressing down on her shoulders until she was actually hunched over like an old vixen.

Shame. Twenty dollars and shame. That was her currency. She had always donated to a food pantry when she had the time and resources. She had volunteered at this food pantry in particular with her church group. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would actually shop here.

There but for the Grace of God go I, she thought, and reminded herself once again, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they will inherit the Kingdom of God. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted...but when will that comfort come?

Helen finally reached out and pushed open the door. She flinched when the bell rang over her head, but carried on. Twenty dollars, she had only twenty dollars to stretch until next week. Her mother could only give so much, living on a fixed income and all. Molly Swift was an angel, doing what she could, and God bless Richard Swift, who was working extra shifts just to help out. God bless both of them! Now, what could she get that would sustain two foxes for a week?

She noted the boxes of instant macaroni and cheese, the instant noodles, and instant soups. The vixen wrinkled her nose. Never. The twenty dollars in her pocket provided the reality check she needed. Well...almost never, if nothing better was available. This wasn't the first time Helen knew hard times, but she had been so young back then, she didn't know the first thing about feeding a family on a few dollars a day. Then she spied a young mother with three children, and Helen felt less awful for her own circumstances.

After long contemplation and vigorous mental math, the vixen thought she had come up with something suitable. With the reduced prices and some coupons she had scrounged together, there was enough here that she could conceivably make a week's worth of meals, plus a small carton of blueberries. Nick's birthday was coming up, and he deserved a treat. Her stomach grumbled in protest to see that this was all she could afford. But, she still had enough spices and seasonings in the cabinets to make this at least palatable. She hoped. Her heart sank when she got to the register and it rang up to just over twenty dollars. Something had to go back. She stared at the fare before her. There was no way this could cost so much! She checked the prices again, saw to her dismay that her math had been off, and asked the cashier to remove the blueberries. Nick would understand, surely. He had been getting the free lunches at school since Redd left, another week wouldn't hurt him.

But he was already beginning to look so thin. Helen put that out of her mind before she started crying. She paid for her food and walked out. On her way out she swore she saw one of her fellow churchgoers, and prayed fervently that he had not recognized her.

When she got home, Nick was there, sitting at the dining table. To her alarm, he was counting out money. A lot of money. More money than any child his age had any reason to have. He looked guilty for a moment, but took a deep breath as if ready to jump into cold water, stood, and held out his paw to show her the wad of cash wrapped in a rubber band.

"Nick," she said slowly, "Where did you get that?"

The kit held his arm out straighter, as if silently offering the wad of cash would be enough to keep her from asking too many questions. She had never taught him that, he had to have learned it from Redd.

"Nicholas Piberius Wilde," she said sternly, "You will tell me right now where you got that money."

"Does it matter?" he asked. "This should be enough for the electric, right?"

"Yes it matters! Where did you get that money?" she demanded.

"I earned it."

"Doing what?"

"Helping out around the neighborhood."

Her already anxious mind went to all the horrible scenarios that could have happened, all the unthinkable things that Nick could have done… No! No that could never happen, not to him! "Who were you helping?"

Nick was getting impatient. "Mom, I didn't steal it! I earned it. Because we needed the money."

That was enough to give her pause. Whatever she had planned to say slipped away when the truth hit her. Helen raised her paws to her mouth to choke back the sob, or the bile, she wasn't sure which it was. Was it shame, thinking that her son thought they were in such terrible straits that he would do anything to help pay their bills? Or was it nausea, thinking that her twelve-year-old was taking on the responsibility of a mammal thrice his age?

And yet she was strangely proud of him.

"Nicky," she said, finally letting out a few tears. "You didn't have to do that. We would've gotten the money another way."

Nick stubbornly set the cash on the table in front of her and said, "Mom, I'm the male of the house now, right? I should be taking care of you."

That did it. Helen broke, those carefully constructed walls tumbling, shattering like glass as she collapsed into the chair and started to openly sob. Now she felt shame. She had been so careful, hadn't she? Hadn't she been careful to not let on how bad it actually was? Hadn't she shielded him from all her anxiety, her fear? Or had the cracks already been there and had he seen right through her? That had to be it. Nick was such a savvy child, he should have picked up on it immediately.

Savvy, just like his father.

Helen's head snapped up and she stared at the wad of crumpled bills in front of her. A horrid thought crossed her mind. There had to be easily two hundred dollars here. Who would pay a child so much money for just "helping out"? And these were small bills. Just how long had Nick been working on this, and on a school day no less?

"Did you skip school?"

He didn't answer.

"Nicholas Wilde," she said sternly, "Should I be expecting a call from the school?"

He wouldn't meet her gaze. His ears were angled down, and he stared at the floor. Finally Nick mumbled, "I told them I wasn't feeling well. It…wasn't a lie."

She shook her head, feeling a tension headache coming on. Aspirin. She forgot to get aspirin. Molly probably had some, but it was just one more reminder that Helen couldn't provide her son with what he needed. She felt like a terrible mother, the absolute worst. Even as her son started to put away the groceries for her, she felt like a terrible mother. Staying in her marriage to Redd, well, that would've been a disaster one way or another. But she couldn't provide for her son, couldn't find a job, they had already been living paycheck to paycheck, and now with their savings dwindling by the day…

Helen looked down at the pile of money on the table. Her eyes roved over to the other pile of bills, each with a large "OVERDUE" stamped in red. Her paw twitched, she debated with herself, then finally acknowledged she had no real choice.

She picked up the money, counted it out, and told her son in no uncertain terms, "Nick, this is the last time this will happen. Do you understand? Don't you go following in your father's footsteps."

"Why would I want to?" he asked. Such a smart boy. He knew already what kind of animal his father was. Even still, Helen felt a sinking feeling in her gut as she gathered the money and her purse so she could run out to the bank. She needed to pay at least the electric bill. She could think about the other implications later.

Bonnie Hopps, 2001

Bonnie was completely at a loss and utterly distracted. She thought that walking the carrot patches would help clear her mind, but it wasn't working this time. Judy had gotten into another fight just the day before. Except this time both she and Gideon had been caught and punished. They were both serving after-school detentions. The call she had received came with the ominous warning that if it happened again, Judy would be suspended, possibly even expelled. It made Bonnie's blood boil. Her daughter was being bullied! She was defending herself! Why couldn't anyone see that?

Judy's grades were dropping, and she was becoming depressed and withdrawn. No nine-year-old should be so depressed, it was just wrong. Judy had even started fighting with her siblings, and not the harmless bickering that was normal for siblings. No, this was far worse. Bonnie was at her wit's end. This wasn't like her little Bun-Bun, not at all.

She came to a stop at the edge of the carrot patch by the farm stand where they sold vegetables in the summer. The thought suddenly came to her like an epiphany from the Almighty. Principal O'Hara had all but admitted that he knew about the bullying, but seemed insistent that Judy be punished and not her tormentor. The principal was a hare, the Greys were foxes, and back in the Stone Age, foxes hunted creatures like them. It was just in their biology, that instinctive aversion to all predators – especially foxes – might as well have been in their DNA. What if the reason Gideon wasn't punished was because such behavior was only to be expected from a tod? Or was it far more likely that the principal feared Amos Grey too much to stand up to him? Would any prey ever stand up and say "this isn't right"?

Then Bonnie realized perhaps the most infuriating – demeaning, insulting, aggravating – reason for Judy's punishment. It was simply because she was a rabbit. Hadn't Bonnie herself said that violence never solved anything, that violence was just not something rabbits did? Hadn't she said it herself that ignoring it would make him stop? She had stopped herself short of repeating the same tired excuses: "he does it because he likes you," "he just wants to be friends," "boys will be boys." But, she realized with rising guilt and shame, she had taught her own daughter to be a victim. Her child, her wonderful vibrant child, had lost the spirit that made her who she was. And it was all Bonnie's fault.

She turned back to the farmhouse. Judy would be home soon, and she needed to figure out exactly what to tell her.

Helen Wilde, 1996

It was six weeks after she was fired that she got the phone call. Helen sat in her living room, working on a new embroidery sampler: the Nurse's Prayer. She had been doing a lot of praying lately, in spite of feeling like every word was falling on deaf ears. So each stitch was another prayer, like counting beads on a rosary:

"Lord, help me to bring comfort where there is pain, courage where there is fear, hope where there is despair, and a gentle touch with tenderness, patience and love. In Your name I pray. Amen."

Before now, she thought that prayer was meant for the patient as well as the nurse, but the vixen realized how often she had been praying for the exact same things for herself: comfort, courage, hope. All three were in very short supply. But there was a lot of fear, and a lot of worry. Nick had been coming home later and later from school in the last few days, always with more cash. It was only a couple dollars here and there, at least as far as she knew. She needed a job, soon, because she would be damned if she allowed her son to follow in his father's footsteps.

But it was hard, harder than it should've been. This was supposed to be a healthy, vibrant economy, wasn't it? Unemployment was supposed to be low, and jobs for nurses had to be plentiful. She just wasn't seeing it. She had gone in person to several clinics and doctor's offices, only to be turned away. She had applied to every hospital, even the ones reputed to be death traps. Helen had applied to every open nursing position in the city, in all the districts. She had even applied to a position all the way out in Bunnyburrow. If they had to move for work, she would move. Bunnyburrow might not be so bad: lower cost of living, fresh air, far from the corrupting influence of the city...plus, she heard they had good schools.

Helen kept running into the same problems, though. Primarily, every interview was cut short the minute she revealed she had been fired from her previous job. Bob Kovacks held sway over most hospitals in the city and surrounding districts, and even a few of the clinics and doctor's offices refused to hire her because of the black mark next to her name. Now she was beginning to wonder if part the reason wasn't just Kovacks, but her species. No one would trust a vixen. A vixen nurse? What patient would trust her?

She realized she had let the sampler fall from nerveless paws as she was deep in thought. Bending over to pick it up, she pricked her finger on the needle. A horrid thought entered her mind when she saw the little red droplet bloom on her fingertip, but she swiftly pushed it away. No, Nick needed her. She would never do that to him.

The phone rang. Helen didn't bother to pick up the dropped sampler, instead stepping over it, sucking on the injured finger as she answered, "Hello?"

"Yes, may I please speak to Helen Wilde?"

"This is she." Lord, please don't let it be a creditor, she thought.

"Hi Ms. Wilde, my name is Michelle, I'm calling from Zootopia General Hospital…"

She glanced at the clock and her heart pounded. Nick was supposed to have been home from school by now. Dear God, what if something had happened to him? In her worry, she almost missed the rest of the message:

"...available for an interview?"

Had she heard that right? "Interview?"

"Yes ma'am. With Dr. Hart. I know this is short notice, but he would like you to come in this afternoon, say four o'clock?"

Helen glanced back at the clock. 3:28. She would have to hurry. "Zootopia General Hospital, correct?"

"Yes ma'am," and Michelle quickly gave her the details as Helen furiously scribbled them down on a notepad next to the phone. "We'll see you at four."

"Yes, thank you." Helen set the receiver down, took a moment to collect her racing thoughts and realized that it would take her a good twenty minutes to get from her apartment to the hospital, and that was if she hurried. The vixen made a mad scramble to her bedroom and put on the nicest dress she owned: a dark blue one she had sewed herself. Checking that it was free of lint and random hairs, she reached into her bureau for her scant collection of jewelry. She rarely wore jewelry anymore, and most of the pieces she had were gifts from Redd. The only thing she reached for was a pair of pearl earrings that had been her mother's. She put them on, dropped a tiny bottle of perfume in her purse, and she was out the door.

"Molly!" she called to the weasel coming up the stairs. "I have an interview. Can you watch Nick when he gets home?"

"Sure!" Molly said, looking pleased with herself. "Good luck!"

Luck, for once, seemed to be on her side. The afternoon rush hour had just begun for the government employees, and the sidewalks and streets were already teeming with animals big and small. This was one of those rare occasions when she was grateful to be born a fox: it made weaving in and out of the crowds that much easier. By no means was she an endurance runner, but she managed to make it to the hospital with just enough time to spare. She checked her reflection in a window, smoothed down windblown fur and straightened her dress. She applied just a couple drops of perfume to the back of her ears and allowed herself one deep breath before she walked into the ER and up to the front desk. The nurse on duty directed her to the correct room.

Helen hesitated just outside the closed door, her mind whirling. She'd had very little time to prepare and honestly had no clue what to expect. This was the most unprepared for an interview she had ever been, but she was so desperate for a job now she would have done anything. Well, almost everything, she had yet to apply for a position at Bug Burga. Taking in one last deep breath, she knocked briskly and let herself in once someone called for her.

At the other end of the room with white tile floors and beige walls sat three doctors in white coats. Directly in front of their table was a solitary chair. To Helen's eye it looked more like she was facing a trial than a job interview. But then, with her recent luck, this would quickly turn into a trial anyway. Wordlessly, she stepped further into the room and took her seat in the empty chair facing the doctors.

In her extreme anxiety, she clenched her paws into fists and stood straighter, looking each doctor in the eye. Her audience was a female hippo, a bespectacled stag, and silver fox. The fox took her by surprise. Surely there had to be vulpine doctors, but she had never heard of one in Zootopia. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white coat to his elbows, and unlike his fellow doctors, slumped back in his chair, looking like this was the absolute last place he wanted to be. The other two doctors were remarkable in their own ways: the female hippo looked like, well, a mother. Helen knew a kindred spirit on sight, and the hippo seemed like-minded. The stag on the other hand was as tall and stern where his female colleague was relatively short and benevolent, and sat ramrod straight whereas his vulpine colleague slouched even further down in his chair as if to make up for the two of them.

"Helen Wilde?" the stag asked.

She almost jumped to hear his deep, authoritative, slightly accented voice, ideal for a doctor soothing anxious patients. "Ah, yes. Yes, sir, I'm Helen Wilde."

The stag pointed at himself with his pen. "I'm Dr. Patrick Hart, Chief of Medicine. These are my colleagues: Dr. Meri Tawarit, Head of Pediatrics…"

The hippo gave her a little wave and a polite nod. Naturally, Helen thought, the Head of Pediatrics should rightfully be a species known for being overprotective mothers. Plus, Dr. Tawarit had a warm, wholesome look, like a beloved grandmother. Perfect for calming nervous children.

"...And Dr. Michael Fawkes, Head of Internal Medicine."

The silver fox didn't smile, and he didn't wave. In fact, he fixed his bright blue eyes right on Helen. Good lord, he wasn't much older than she was. He was quite young to be the head of anything, let alone Head of Internal Medicine at Zootopia's busiest hospital. But appearances had to be deceiving; he would not have been so successful if he was a fool, and this fox did not look like a fool at all.

Helen took a seat on the other side of the table, setting her purse down at her feet.

"Can we get you anything?" Dr. Tawarit offered.

"No, thank you," the vixen quickly replied. She was certain if they gave her water, her paws would shake too much to hold the cup.

"So," Dr. Hart started, "I understand your last job was at Sacred Heart in Tundra Town, correct?"

"Yes, that's right." Her heart pounded. Would he ask why she left? And should she be honest?

"Did he fire you?" Dr. Fawkes suddenly asked.

"Michael!" the hippo scolded.

"Did Kovacks fire you?" the fox repeated his question, his arms crossed over his chest and piercing gaze transfixing her. Helen felt on guard at once. Redd had a gaze like that… She shook herself and gave this fox a second look. No, his eyes were different. Different color, different gaze...searching, discerning, savvy. The exact opposite of Redd. Helen relaxed, even as her heart raced. Moment of truth…

"Yes," she said stiffly. "He did." Honesty was the best policy, and if she told herself that enough times it might make her believe it. "We had a patient come in, an infant with pneumonia. Her parents didn't have insurance, and I was ordered to send them away. Instead, I treated her. Then he fired me for disobeying orders."

Dr. Fawkes stared at her a moment longer, then turned to look at his colleagues. Dr. Tawarit looked surprised and a little concerned, and Dr. Hart looked contemplative, his unsmiling expression leaving Helen with the distinct impression that she had failed. Her last chance. Well, she supposed she could pick up an application at Bug Burga on the way home…

"Hire her."

She didn't remember gasping, but she did recall her jaw dropping. Dr. Fawkes now had a light smirk on his muzzle. He abruptly stood and made his way towards the door. "We're done here. Give her the paperwork. Let me know when she starts."

Utterly bewildered, Helen missed the barely suppressed laugh from the hippo, but she caught the long-suffering sigh from the stag. Turning back to them, she searched their faces for confirmation. Dr. Hart's stony expression finally broke into a warm half-smile. "That settles that. Can you start Monday?"

She said the only thing that came to mind: "Are you serious? I mean, yes! Yes, I can start Monday."

Dr. Hart stood to follow his vulpine coworker out of the room. "Excellent, we're looking forward to it. Your record speaks for yourself, and you had quite a few recommendations."

"Glowing recommendations," Dr. Tawarit agreed.

You have friends in high places, Molly had said. Maybe I do, but just who are those friends? Helen wondered.

The stag bent to shake Helen's paw. "Welcome aboard. We'll get you started on the paperwork right away. We need a nurse for the day shift in the ER and Trauma Ward. Will that be acceptable?"

"Absolutely," she said, still reeling. This was too good to be true. They wanted her? They hired her in less than ten minutes! What kind of crazy interview was this? What kind of hospital was this? Did it even matter? This was too good to be true, it had to be. If it were truly a nightmare to work here...well, it still beat living under Kovacks's reign of terror.

Bonnie Hopps, 2001

Bonnie had an indescribable feeling pooling deep in her stomach. She felt she would be sick, her heart raced, and she was choking on her own words. Before now she would have thought all these symptoms were normal, side effects of being a skittish bunny. No, this was something different.

She had started feeling odd after the Carrot Days Festival. At first she wondered if it had been Judy's proclamation of her ambition to become the first rabbit police officer. Her repeated run-ins with Gideon only seemed to cement that little bunny's resolve to fight crime and injustice the right way. While admirable, believing that she could be the first bunny cop made her a little too foolhardy.

But when Bonnie saw those scratch marks on her daughter's cheek…that had changed everything. This morning, the first school day after the festival, she finally understood this churning in her gut and pounding pulse in her ears had nothing to do with fear: she was livid.

Bonnie sat at the kitchen table, her coffee mug untouched as she stared at the clock ticking away the seconds. Judy would be in Social Studies by now. Lunch and recess were an hour away. The mother rabbit reflected on that, repeating it like a mantra: an hour until recess...an hour until recess...an hour until recess…

Finding her resolve, Bonnie sprang from her chair, grabbed her purse, and called out to Stu as she stormed outside. He didn't seem surprised to see her in such a state, only tossing her the keys to the old pickup. She caught them single-pawed and peeled out of the yard before Stu could say a word. If she had cared to look, she would have seen the smile on his face and heard him say "That's my Bonnie."

A short drive later, Bonnie pulled into the school parking lot, cut the engine, and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Judging herself suitable enough to see the principal, she slipped out of the truck, slammed the door behind her and stormed up to the main office. Anxiety briefly pooled in her center and threatened to overtake her, but she stubbornly pushed it down. She might have been a timid bunny, but she was a mother, gosh darnit, and her child needed her.

"I need to speak with Principal O'Hara," she demanded before the secretary could even greet her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hopps, but he'll only see you if you have an appointment." That was the wrong thing to say, and the secretary knew that straight away. Bonnie's fist shook, and the secretary saw it. "Ma'am…"

But Bonnie was off like a shot. She pushed past other rabbits, sheep, hares, weasels, and even past one of Judy's teachers. Ignoring the secretary's pleas, the rabbit matron sharply knocked then barged into O'Hara's office. She turned her ire on the other occupant in the room, a young leveret and known troublemaker whose name she couldn't be bothered to remember.

"You. Out."

The leveret didn't need to be told twice. As he scurried out, Bonnie stormed up to the principal's desk and said with a measure of calm she didn't know she possessed, "We need to talk."

Taken by surprise, the hare could barely say, "You'll need to make—"

"Hang your appointments!" she snapped. She cleared her throat, and recovered her composure. Her voice was soft, but her tone firm. "This is about my child, and no one is going to stop me helping her. Not even you. So here's what's going to happen…"

"You can't just—"

"Gideon Grey" she continued, "Is a known bully, and has been for some time. No doubt he learned that from his good-for-nothing father. That's right, I said it!" She continued, still calm: "Gideon assaulted my daughter. You told me to let you handle it, to give you a chance. You had your chance and you blew it. So here's what's going to happen."

She drew herself up to her full height and looked him in the eye. "You will suspend Gideon Grey, get him counseling, and you will not expel Judy. You will do these things because that is the policy of the Board of Education. That is your 'no tolerance' policy, though it seems like you've tolerated enough. No," she cut him off. "You've said your piece, now it's my turn.

"You will do all these things, let my daughter off the hook, or the following things will happen: I will call the police. My daughter was assaulted, multiple times, on school property, on your watch, and now you want to expel her because she fought back. But you know what'll happen if you do?"

"Aside from the police report?" he asked derisively. He clearly thought she was bluffing. She would be more than happy to disabuse him of that notion.

"Yes, aside from the police report, which will name both you and the superintendent as complicit." That was enough to quiet him, and make him think very carefully about his options. "In addition, if Judy receives any kind of punishment from you, I will call the four local news stations, and tell each one that the other three are running the story. So you'll have the cops and the news media crawling all over this school."

His expression hardened. "That's blackmail."

"That's a promise." She took in a deep breath and said firmly, "When a Hopps makes a promise, you best believe we keep it." She waited a heartbeat until it was clear her words had sunk in. Riding off the high of adrenaline and moral superiority, Bonnie added, "Your move."

Less than ten minutes later, Bonnie was back in the truck and barreling down the road to her next stop.

When she pulled up to his property, Amos Grey was burning trash out in his backyard. His farm grew soybeans, a pretty lucrative crop for the area. If one couldn't grow carrots, they could grow soybeans and make a hefty profit. It was another reason why the Greys were so powerful in Bunnyburrow. Bonnie might have been impressed by the fox's success if he wasn't such an insufferable...well, she was too much polite to use the word. She might have respected him if he wasn't so darn smug.

When he saw her truck pull up outside his doublewide, he had a puzzled look on his face. The frown deepened when the rabbit stepped out of the cabin and slammed the door behind her. No one was more surprised than Bonnie herself by the force of her conviction and the tenor of her voice as she approached him. "Amos Grey, we need to talk."

"What makes you think I wanna talk to you?" he asked, turning his head to spit.

"Fine, I'll talk, you listen," she said, standing toe to toe with him. He wisely backed off a bit, even though he towered over her. Her nose twitched only once before she stood to her full height, paws on her hips and said, "Your son is going to leave my daughter the heck alone, starting now. I've already spoken to the principal about this, and he is on board with it."

"Is he now?" Amos asked contemptuously. "And just what is he on board with?"

"Criminal charges."

The sneer melted off his face when he saw the seriousness in her expression. "What?"

"Specifically child endangerment," she continued, "Child abuse, assault…"

"Now hold on!"

"And since you can't put cuffs on a ten-year-old," she continued despite his outburst, "You would be held responsible for your son's actions. I'm good friends with the sheriff's wife, and you and I both know that sheriff doesn't tolerate nonsense like this, does he?"

"You're bluffing," he blustered, "You wouldn't—"

"I can and I most certainly will!" she shouted over him. "When you mess with any of my kids you mess with me. And with God as my witness, if your child ever hurts my child again, I will hunt you down, drag you out of whatever hole you've crawled into, and do the same thing to you."

"Is that supposed to scare me, coming from some scared little dumb bunny?" It was bravado now, nothing else. Bonnie could now see right through him. She could see the insecurity, the thin skin...and the fear. She had him nervous. Making sure she never broke eye contact with him was a struggle against all the prey instincts she had, but it was worth seeing the ill-at-ease expression on the fox's face.

Bonnie finally gave him a smile. "Oh bless your heart, no, I'm not here to scare you. I'm here to warn you. You have this one chance to make this right, or the next time you see me you'll wish the sheriff had gotten to you first." Still smiling, Bonnie adopted her best impression of the fox's drawl: "How do ya like that, Grey?"

Helen Wilde, 1996

Molly had agreed to watch Nick while Helen began her first day at Zootopia General Hospital. Nick was twelve, almost thirteen, so he didn't really need a babysitter anymore, but Helen had begun to worry about him. He should have been out with friends, playing baseball in the park, climbing trees and getting skinned knees. He should have been enjoying childhood while he still could. Since she had lost her job at Sacred Heart, he had become withdrawn, and he started keeping secrets from her. He had never kept things from her, she was the first person he'd tell if something was bothering him.

Molly had suggested that maybe the firing was a catalyst, but it was far more likely Redd's influence. The weasel hadn't meant for her comments to hurt her, but in a way Helen blamed herself for Nick's behavior. True, the divorce was probably better for the both of them, now that Redd was out of the picture. Nick could find better father figures than the one who had disappointed both of them for so long.

It hadn't taken Helen long to understand her new role in her small family: she was now the father as much as the mother. She had to fulfill both roles, and she was sure that she would drop the ball somewhere. She had already lost a job and acquired a new one, so that fulfilled the father-as-provider role. As long as the long hours didn't take away too much time from the son who was growing so quickly…

Someone slapped a pile of patient files in front of her, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked up at her new boss, Dr. Fawkes. "Daydreaming?" he asked. "We're not paying you for that."

"No, sorry, I didn't get enough sleep last night. I was too excited to start here."

"Uh-huh." He surprised her again by setting a cup of coffee from the new hospital café. She read the notes scribbled on the side. "What is this?"

"Caramel macchiato," the gray fox doctor answered, "The other nurses love those candy drinks, thought you might like a pick-me-up on your first day."

She stared at him in awe. She couldn't remember the last time a doctor had bought her a cup of coffee. She couldn't remember if any doctor ever treated her with such kindness. She took a sip of the offered drink and made a face.

"You don't like it?" he asked.

"No, it's fine! It's just…I don't drink coffee, I drink tea."

"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "So…how do you like your tea?"

Was this a test, she wondered? First the male brings her a drink from the café, now he's asking how she likes her tea; what kind of crazy place was this? She decided to test the waters.

"I like my tea the way I like my males." She paused to gauge his expression, then finished, "Strong, bitter, and preferably fair trade."

He stared at her, then his lips curled up into a slight smirk. "Oh yeah, you'll fit right in." He grabbed the cup of her rejected drink, and set another one in front of her. "Irish Breakfast, strongest they got, been steeping for about five minutes. One sugar, no cream."

She took a sip and nodded her appreciation. "Perfect."

Dr. Fawkes finally cracked a smile and glanced down at her desk. "Is that your kid?"

Helen looked down at the framed school photo of her son. His red fur popped against the blue background. Nick would someday cringe when he saw it, like any sane animal would when viewing their old school portraits, but to her, he always looked handsome. "Yes, that's my son, Nick."

"He looks like trouble," Fawkes said. Still smirking, he added, "If he's anything like you, I think I'll like him. Now," he patted the stack of folders, "Could you file this for me? I'm late for a meeting and I don't want to get my tail chewed off again."

"I'd be happy to." He was asking her nicely? What kind of crazy place was this? "Dr. Fawkes?" she asked as he started to walk away. He looked to be in a real hurry, so she kept it brief: "Thank you." He responded with a mock salute and disappeared around the corner.

One long shift later, she was back at home, sitting down to a dinner that Nick had pulled together. Her first day at a new job was a good enough excuse for having breakfast for dinner. Fried eggs, bug sausages, toast, and blueberry pancakes.

"Where on earth did you get the blueberries?" she asked her son.

Nick kept his eyes on his plate. "I had some pocket money. You needed a treat."

"Oh?" she asked knowingly, "And I bet someone twisted your arm?"

He blushed a little under his fur. "Maybe," he said quietly.

Helen reached over to gently squeeze his shoulder. "I don't mind, Nicky. It's perfect." She took a bite and was pleasantly surprised that he managed to make the pancakes quite well. A little overcooked, but he was only twelve. Molly must have helped him, but there was only so much the weasel could do. Helen sighed happily. "Why would anyone ever eat anything other than breakfast food?"

"People are idiots?" Nick offered.

She chuckled and returned to her pancakes. "They sure are."

Bonnie Hopps, 2001

The drive back to the farm was utterly silent, except for the hum of the old engine, the creaky wheels, and the bumps on the road. Judy sat in the front passenger seat, staring out the window with her ears drooped over her little shoulders. Bonnie kept her eyes on the road, but knew the tension was thick in the air in that cab. After a while, she pulled over in the middle of the highway, surrounded only by carrot patches and corn fields.

Suddenly looking worried, Judy asked, "Why are we stopping?"

"So I can give you a good talking to, that's why." Bonnie cut the engine and stared at the steering wheel a moment to gather her thoughts. She closed her eyes, figured out exactly what she was about to say, and steeled herself for the consequences.

"Now," Bonnie said, "You know I don't condone violence of any kind." She paused to make sure she had her daughter's attention. "That said, that boy lays a paw on you ever again, you best make him regret it."

Judy's ears perked up and her eyes widened. "What?"

"All I ask," her mother continued, "Is that you never start a fight, but you always end them."

Judy visibly processed this, then asked, "I won't get in trouble?"

"With the school, maybe," Bonnie admitted. There was only so much she could do against the school board. "But your father and I won't punish you. Heck, you beat the snot outta him, I'll take you out for ice cream. Deal?"

Judy finally smiled. "Deal!"

Bonnie finally smiled at her, then turned the key in the ignition. "Oh, one last thing, Bun-bun."

"Yeah, Mom?"

The mother rabbit made sure she had her daughter's undivided attention before she said definitively: "Don't tell your father."

Helen Wilde, 2017

Helen found him in the break room, sitting amongst the nurses as they watched a soap opera while on break. Dr. Fawkes was an odd one, unlike any doctor Helen had ever known. He was confident, self-assured without being arrogant, caring without getting too close to the patient, and though his bedside manner could have used a lot of work...working for the Head of Internal Medicine for twenty years had been the most rewarding experience of her life. Helen sat at one of the old tables to eat her lunch, grateful to be off her feet for the first time that day.

As she listened to the cheesy soap opera blaring on the breakroom TV, she still couldn't understand why everyone here, especially her vulpine superior, was so engrossed in it. She had been thinking of him a lot lately, what with her 20-year service anniversary coming up. One thing had been bothering her, and while before she would have been content to just bury it and forget about it, finally her curiosity won her over.

Helen pushed away from the table and stood next to the couch where the gray fox reclined with his hands on the back of his head. "Dr. Fawkes…"

The gray fox held up one finger to bid her to wait. He only lowered that finger when his show cut to commercial. "Okay, go."

"Why did you hire me?"

He raised a dark brow, gauging her sincerity. He frowned. "I thought that was obvious."

"Clearly it wasn't."

"After this long, you still don't know?"

"No."

He groaned and sat forward. "I hired you because Kovacks fired you."

Now Helen was thoroughly confused. "How is that a plus?"

"Because Bob Kovacks was a bastard, God rest his sleazy soul," he said unflinchingly. "He put the hospital's bottom line before the patients, every time. And he fired anyone who did the opposite. If he fired you, it means you did something right. And that's the kind of person we want working here." His smile was genuine, and she returned it with equal warmth. "I've seen you with the patients here, Helen," he added, "You're a natural. 'Course, it helped that Russ called to tell me to hire you."

That made her freeze. Could it...no, it couldn't be, that would be too much of a coincidence. "Russ?" she asked.

"Russ Burnram, the DA. He was just a law student at the time," Fawkes explained. "He was interning at some law office back then, but that gig didn't come with insurance. His kid got sick, he went to the closest hospital, thought she was going to die until some vixen nurse stepped forward and helped." The fox smirked at her. "Seems Mr. Burnram got pretty pissed when he found out Kovacks fired you. Looked all over the city so he could thank you. He finally called me, since we were roommates in undergrad, told me to be on the lookout for a new nurse. Had a hell of a time finding you, too."

"So you already knew going into the interview that I had been fired and why?" she asked, "Had you already decided to hire me?"

"No. I wanted to see if you would lie. You didn't. A nurse with compassion and integrity? I'd have to be an idiot not to hire you." He glanced back up at the TV. "We done here? My stories are back on."

I don't know what I was expecting, she thought as she rolled her eyes. "Yes, we're done. Did his evil twin steal his wife yet?" she asked with a wrinkled nose.

"Don't hate," he said defensively. "Is your boy going to take you out to dinner?"

"Not on Sunday, no. We both have to work. Mondays are better anyway."

"Is he taking you somewhere nice?"

Helen didn't know, Nick had kept those plans pretty close to the vest. Perhaps he was planning to pull out all the stops, to make up for seven years' worth of missed Mother's Days. Or perhaps guilt made him want to go overboard. Or maybe, just maybe, he just wanted to spend the day with his mother. She would have liked that best, more than anything else.

Although, she thought with a winsome smile, I wouldn't mind if my Mother's Day surprise happened to involve a possible future daughter-in-law…

Bonnie Hopps, 2017

Bonnie smiled at the fox when she answered the door. "Gideon! I wasn't expecting you. Everything alright?"

Oh, how he had grown! He was now taller than his daddy, and a great deal nicer thanks to all that counseling. The Hopps matriarch marveled how much the son more resembled his mother now, and thank goodness for that. It helped, too, that Gideon had inherited his granny's pie recipes. He was currently holding the product of one of those recipes.

"Everythin's fine, Miz Bonnie," he said politely. "I just wanted to bring this yer way, as a gift and a thank you. Another blueberry pie y'all seem to like so much. 'Course, it ain't gonna beat your rhubarb pie…"

Bonnie accepted the offered pastry with a warm smile. "Your pies are always good. I don't think I've tasted a bad one yet! Did you want to come in?"

"Oh I couldn't, bein' Mother's Day an' all," he said bashfully. "I just...well, I'm fixin' to take my ma out to lunch, and before I did that I…" he paused, swallowed hard, and finally said, "I wanted to thank you, fer all you did fer me."

Bonnie furrowed her brows. "You mean our partnership? Gideon, you don't need to thank me for that." It was just good business sense after all. But he surprised her when he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Naw, not that, ma'am. I meant...what you did, back when I was a kid. You probably don't remember…"

Aghast, she couldn't think of what to say. Had Amos told him why he was suddenly getting counseling? Had the principal? Had anyone told him about that? She asked him, and he replied, "Naw, no one told me. I put two an' two together. Maybe you didn't know it then, but I was really unhappy and took it out on other people, and my behavior was just unacceptable. Anyone else would've just written me off as just some bad kid, but you didn't. You had faith in me, an', ma'am, that…" he seemed to lose track of what he was trying to say. He was probably trying to make it more heartfelt than it needed to be. But she didn't mind.

"Gideon, you never have to thank me for that," she said. "Matter of fact...wait here just a minute, will you?" Bonnie hurried into the kitchen, and returned a minute later bearing her own gift for him. "Here, sweetie, give this to your mama. She still likes rhubarb, right?"

Gideon smiled, gratefully accepting the gift. "She sure does, Miz Bonnie. Thank you." They both knew those two words held more meaning than they could ever convey.

They then parted ways, Gideon to meet his mother, and Bonnie to take a phone call from her most spirited daughter. Who knows, Bonnie thought, maybe that call will involve a possible future son-in-law…

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