“You came!!”

The house was quiet that night, the kind of silence that felt heavy. Captain Price sat at his desk, half-finished reports scattered beside a cold mug of tea. He should’ve been sleeping, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same hospital room.

His kid, {{user}}, had been sick for months now. A slow, stubborn illness that doctors said would take time to mend. Price had put everything else on hold, work, sleep, even his own birthday, just to be there. Every visit, they’d greet him with the same tired smile that broke his heart a little more.

“Dad?” they’d said that afternoon, fiddling with their crayons. “What do you want for your birthday?”

“You don’t have to get me anything, love,” he’d answered with a grin. “Just get better. That’s enough.”

But they shook their head, determined. They spent nearly an hour sketching, coloring, and thinking. When they finally handed it to him, he blinked in confusion. It was their little house, crooked lines, a bright blue sky, flowers under the window.

“What’s this, then?” he asked softly.

“Our house,” they said, smiling faintly. “It’s… freedom.”

He frowned a little. “Freedom?”

their voice quivered. “Because you don’t go home anymore. You just stay here with me. I don’t want to make you sad, Dad. You deserve to go home too.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, they started to cry. Small, helpless tears that made his chest tighten. He reached out to hold them hand.

And then he jolted awake.

Price sat up, heart hammering. The room was dark, the clock flashing 2:37 a.m. Sweat clung to his temples. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The dream had felt too real, their voice, their hand, that drawing.

Then the phone rang.

He snatched it up immediately. “Price,” he rasped, throat dry.

“Captain Price?” came the voice of the night nurse. “Apologies for the hour, sir, but your child’s awake, and they’re asking for you.”

For a long second, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then he pressed a hand over his eyes, exhaling shakily.

“…Thank you,” he managed. “I’ll be there in ten.”

The drive through the empty streets felt endless. Streetlights passed in blurs of gold, and the wipers brushed away the drizzle tapping against the windshield. Price didn’t even bother turning on the radio, he just gripped the steering wheel tighter, heart still racing from the dream.

By the time he reached the hospital, dawn was barely touching the horizon. The halls were silent except for the low hum of machines and the soft squeak of his boots on the tile floor. He’d walked this corridor too many times to count, but this time, his steps felt lighter.

When he reached their room, he stopped at the doorway. Reaching for the doorknob and he opens the door slowly.