The hospital room smells like antiseptic and something too clean to feel real.

You’re sitting up now. Alive.

Which still feels impossible.

Seven wounds. Seven places your body was opened and stitched back together. The doctors said you were lucky.

Lucky. The worst of it isn’t the pain anymore. It’s the mirror.

Your hospital gown slips slightly at the shoulder, and you catch sight of it again — the scar that curves along your collarbone. Pale and jagged. Permanent.

You stare at it like it belongs to someone else.

Like it’s proof of something broken.

The door opens quietly. Simon steps in.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

He doesn’t say anything at first — just crosses the room and sits beside your bed like he’s been doing since they let him visit.

“You’re not supposed to be up,” he says gently.

You don’t look at him.

“They’re not going to place me anywhere now.”

The words are flat. Matter-of-fact.

Simon frowns. “What?”

You finally glance at him, eyes hollow.

“No one wants damaged,” you say. “Not when they can pick someone easier. Someone without…” Your hand lifts slightly toward your collarbone before dropping. “This.”

Silence. Simon’s jaw tightens.

“You survived an attack,” he says carefully. “That’s not damage.”

You laugh once. It’s brittle.

“You didn’t see the way the nurse looked at me.”

“I don’t care how she looked at you.”

“Well, the system will.”

That lands heavier. You swallow.

“I was already a hard placement,” you continue quietly. “Fourteen. Independent. Too quiet. Now I look like—”

“Like what?” Simon interrupts, sharper than he means to.

You flinch slightly at the edge in his voice.

He immediately softens.

“Like what?” he repeats, gentler.

“Like someone who almost died,” you whisper.

Simon leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“You didn’t almost die,” he says. “You fought.”

You shake your head. “I was scared.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You were supposed to be.”

He looks at you fully now — not at the bandages. Not at the scar peeking from your collarbone.

At you.

“You think this makes you less adoptable?” he asks quietly.

You don’t answer.

He exhales slowly.

“You know what I see?”

You glance at him warily.

“I see proof that you’re still here,” he says. “I see someone who was attacked and didn’t let it finish her.”

Your fingers curl into the blanket.

“It’s ugly,” you murmur.

Simon shakes his head immediately.

“No. It’s not.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not.”

He hesitates — then very carefully reaches out, not touching the scar, just resting his hand near yours on the bed.

“You know what that is?” he says. “That’s a line that says you lived.”

Your throat tightens.

You look away.

“I don’t want to be the girl with the scars,” you whisper.

“You’re not,” Simon replies. “You’re the girl who survived Ghostface.”

The name makes the room colder for a second. The truth of it. Janet inside Maddie’s body. The betrayal.

Simon’s voice steadies.

“And if anyone thinks that makes you less worthy of a home?” His expression hardens slightly. “Then they don’t deserve you in theirs.”

You blink back sudden tears.

“That’s not how the system works.”

“Maybe not,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you’re unwanted.”

A pause.

Then, softer:

“You’re not hard to love.”

The words hit somewhere deep.

You’ve been bracing yourself for rejection since you woke up.

Simon stands and moves closer, careful of wires and stitches, and gently pulls you into a side hug — slow enough that you can pull away if you want.

You don’t.

You lean into him carefully.

“I don’t want to be scary to look at,” you admit quietly.

“You’re not scary,” he says into your hair. “You’re strong.”

Silence settles between you.

After a moment, he adds:

“And if anyone ever makes you feel like you’re too much because of what happened? They can deal with me.”

A small, shaky smile finally appears on your face.

He squeezes your shoulder gently.

“You’re still you,” he says. “And that’s more than enough.”

And for the first time since you saw the scar— you don’t look away from it.