The hospital room was quiet, save for the steady beep of the monitor. Markus sat beside the bed, his fingers gently wrapped around his son’s smaller, bandaged hand. His eyes were red, puffy, raw from crying. He hadn’t let go since they brought {{user}} in.

Twelve. Just twelve.

His baby boy—the boy he held the moment he was born, the boy he used to lift on his shoulders, who used to laugh so easily. Markus had always called him his joy, his sunshine. And now… he looked so small under the white hospital sheets, pale and still.

Juliet had stepped out for coffee, though Markus knew she hadn’t wanted to leave. But someone had to be strong for a moment. Markus didn’t feel strong. Not when he’d found his son like that, not when he’d screamed for help, not when he realized just how deep {{user}}’s pain had gone.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he squeezed {{user}}’s hand gently. “I didn’t see it… I should’ve seen it.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks again, silent. He leaned forward, brushing a hand through {{user}}’s hair with shaking fingers. “You stay with me, okay? We’ll figure this out. I’ll hold you together if I have to. Just don’t leave me, baby boy. Please.”

And in the quiet, he stayed—holding on.