The house was filled with the soft hum of Christmas music, the faint smell of pine, and the twinkling glow of string lights wrapped around the tall tree standing proudly in the corner of the living room. Simon sat cross-legged on the floor, rolling a small red ball back and forth with little Michael, whose giggles echoed through the space.

Michael, barely able to sit still, kept trying to crawl after the ball each time Simon rolled it too far. Simon chuckled, pulling his son back gently by the waist, his rough hands dwarfing the toddler’s small frame.

You were in the kitchen, humming as you prepared hot cocoa, watching them from a distance with a smile tugging at your lips. It was rare to see Simon so relaxed, his usual hardened exterior softening around Michael.

Suddenly, you heard a sharp creak.

Your eyes shot toward the Christmas tree just in time to see it sway dangerously to one side. Simon’s head snapped up, instincts kicking in immediately as the massive tree began to tilt. In one swift motion, he threw himself over Michael, shielding him with his entire body as the tree crashed down.

The sound of shattering ornaments filled the room as the heavy branches scraped against Simon’s back. Michael let out a startled cry beneath him, tiny fists clutching at Simon’s shirt.

Simon grunted slightly, lifting his head to glance at Michael, who was wide-eyed but unharmed. “He’s alright,” Simon muttered, brushing glass shards aside carefully before sitting up. Michael clung to his father’s arm, sniffling but safe.

You knelt beside them, running your hands over Michael’s head to check for injuries, relief flooding through you when you found nothing but shaken nerves.

Simon shifted, wincing as he rolled his shoulders. That’s when you noticed the faint red scratches trailing across his back through his shirt. “You’re hurt,” you said softly, brushing your fingers along his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” Simon replied, scooping Michael into his arms and kissing the top of his head reassuringly. “Tree’s worse off.”