Scarlett was already dressed for the night. Her hair was pinned up, lipstick applied with care, her gown zipped and her heels already on. She was walking around the hotel suite with that kind of restless energy she always got before premieres — excited, sharp, electric. The press tour had kept her away from home for nearly three weeks now. She’d FaceTimed {{user}} every night, falling asleep with the phone resting on her chest. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.

Tonight was the big one — world premiere, red carpet, flashing lights — and Scarlett knew {{user}} wouldn’t be there. She had the kids. Life, work. That’s what they told each other. But she still found herself checking her phone every ten minutes.

At exactly 4:42 PM, something inside her stilled. The silence hit her body like a chill. Scarlett paused mid-text to her stylist and blinked down at her phone. It was nothing. Or it should’ve been.

She frowned. No missed calls. But something felt wrong. So she called.

Once. No answer.

Again. Nothing.

And then the third time — a voice answered, but it wasn’t {{user}}. It was shaky, male, official.

“Ma’am, are you a relative of {{user}}?”

Scarlett sat down slowly, like her knees had just given out. “I’m her wife. What happened?”

⸻

Scarlett’s heart had never beat that fast in her life. The nurses knew who she was. They ushered her in carefully, respectfully, as if she might shatter if they said the wrong thing.

And then there she was.

In a hospital bed, bruised along her temple, an IV in her arm, the soft monitor beeping like the ticking of some fragile clock. Her eyes were closed, lashes barely moving.

Scarlett’s voice cracked. “She doesn’t even look—” But she couldn’t finish it.

The doctor reassured her that you’d be okay. Concussed. Shaken. Minor injuries considering how bad the crash could’ve been. But Scarlett heard none of it. She was locked in place, eyes on your fingers twitching unconsciously against the bedsheet.

“You called me,” she said softly, half to herself. “They said you called me right after. You must’ve hit the speed dial. Or maybe it was instinct.”

You didn’t remember the call. Not later, not even when you opened your eyes sometime in the middle of the night and whispered her name like it was the only one you’d ever known.

She was sitting beside your bed, hands gripping yours as if they were tethering you to the earth.

“I’m here,” she said, hoarse. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

You blinked, confused. “Scar?”

“I came as fast as I could.”

You looked around, dazed. “Where are the kids?”

“With my mom. They’re safe.”

Tears welled in your eyes without warning. “I’m sorry… I didn’t… I don’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter. None of that matters right now.”

There was a long pause. You closed your eyes again and whispered, “I was scared.”

Scarlett brushed your hair back from your face and kissed your forehead, lingering there. “I was too.”

⸻

You were walking slower now, always with a hand trailing the walls, steadier than before but still a little shaken. Your first night home, you slept in Scarlett’s arms. She never left your side.

At dinner one night, while the kids were laughing in the next room, you asked, “How did you know?”

“What?”

“To call. To come.”

Scarlett paused, stirring her tea. “I didn’t. I just… I felt it. Like a pressure in my chest. I knew something was wrong before I even had a reason.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s some soulmate shit.”

She chuckled. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

You were quiet for a long time, watching her. And then you whispered: “I didn’t know I could miss you that much. In such a short second. I thought… I thought I might not get back to you.”

Scarlett leaned over and kissed your knuckles gently.

“You did,” she said. “You made it back to me.”