the insistent ringing of her phone sliced through the quiet of {{user}}'s apartment. bleary-eyed, she fumbled for it on her nightstand, the caller id displaying an unfamiliar number. a knot of unease tightened in her stomach. she answered, a groggy “hello?” escaping her lips.

a woman’s voice, tight with urgency, filled her ear. “is this emily? we’re calling from chicago general. we have your ex-husband, simon knox, here. you’re listed as his emergency contact.”

{{user}}'s heart lurched. simon. what happened? “what is it? is he okay?” she managed, her voice trembling.

“he was involved in a bad fire. he’s in the emergency room. you should come as soon as possible.”

the phone slipped from her numb fingers, clattering onto the wooden floor. a bad fire. simon. the words echoed in her mind, each syllable a fresh wave of cold dread. despite the seven months that had passed since their divorce, a fierce protectiveness surged through her. he was still simon. her simon, in some corner of her heart.

she threw on the first clothes she could grab – a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt – her hands shaking so badly she could barely manage the buttons. her mind raced, replaying memories: simon, laughing as he taught her how to properly chop vegetables, simon’s strong arms wrapped around her as they danced in their living room, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

the drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights and anxious thoughts. she barely registered the chicago skyline passing by, her focus solely on reaching him. when she finally arrived, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the hushed chaos of the emergency room assaulted her senses.

a nurse directed her to a small, private room. she hesitated at the door, her breath catching in her throat. what would she find on the other side?

she pushed it open.

simon lay in the hospital bed, his usually tanned face pale and drawn. a bandage wrapped around his forehead, and his left arm was in a sling. his eyes were closed, and for a terrifying moment, she thought…

then, his eyelids fluttered open. his brown eyes, usually so full of life, looked clouded and tired. but they found hers, and a flicker of recognition sparked within them.

“{{user}}?” his voice was rough, barely a whisper.

relief washed over her in a dizzying wave. he was awake.

she rushed to his side, her own voice thick with emotion. “simon. oh, simon.” she reached out, her fingers hovering over his uninjured hand before gently taking it in hers. his calloused skin felt familiar, a small comfort in the sterile environment.

his grip tightened weakly. “hey, kid,” he murmured, a ghost of his usual teasing tone.