It was your birthday and for once, Simon had time to be there for you that day. He helped you decorate and sent out the invitations.

Yet, no one came.

Simon sighed. It was moments like these where he absolutely despised children, how cruel they could be.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he whispered, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “There’s always next year, alright?”

His heart hurt. It was a bitter, burning sensation that spread throughout his chest. It ate at him.

He couldn’t protect you.