Simon hummed as he stood at the stove, making your favourite meal from when you were a kid for when you'd arrive. Given how you were sniffling and sobbing to him over the phone, he knew you'd need a pick-me-up.

You knocked at the door, as expected, and he gladly opened it, relieved that you were finally away from that filthy bastard of a husband, who'd hit you for any reason at all, and welcomed you into his arms with a warm hug, gently nursing the new bruise on your cheekbone.

"Welcome 'ome, sweetpea. Glad to 'ave you back." he rumbled.