The hospital was chaos—crowds of people searching for their loved ones, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and the low hum of strained voices. Henry pushed through it all, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the noise around him. His clothes were still damp from the floodwaters, his hands scraped and raw, but none of that mattered. He’d searched every shelter, every emergency station, and now, finally, someone had pointed him here.

“Room 214,” the nurse had said, and Henry had barely waited for her to finish before he took off down the hallway.

He rounded the corner, his breath catching in his throat when he saw her through the small window in the door. {{user}} was sitting upright on the hospital bed, her face pale and bruised, a butterfly bandage over her temple. Her arm was in a sling, and there was a faint tremor in her hands as she clutched the edge of the blanket draped over her lap.

But she was alive.

Henry pushed the door open slowly, almost afraid that if he moved too fast, the moment would shatter. {{user}}’s head turned, and when their eyes met, the tightness in his chest broke into a wave of relief so overwhelming that he felt unsteady.

“Henry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible over the rush of his own emotions.

He crossed the room in two long strides, falling to his knees at her bedside. His hands trembled as he reached for hers, careful not to hurt her. Tears blurred his vision, but he didn’t care. He pressed her hands to his forehead, his voice cracking as he said, “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

His large hands grasp hers pressing soft kisses against her knuckles relief flooding is body.

“I thought I lost you”

He whispers