Gloria hesitated, her eyes darting towards the small jar. “It’s—it’s a homemade supplement,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought it might help with her teething. My grandmother used to make it for us.”

Michael’s expression softened slightly, though his guard remained up. “Why didn’t you ask me first? All of Emily’s dietary needs are managed by professionals.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Gloria replied, her eyes earnest and somewhat pleading. “And I never meant any harm, Mr. Whitmore. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped.”

Michael took the jar from her and motioned for her to stand. “We’ll have this checked. Until then, I need you to step back from your duties.”