Ronan's quiet Christmas shift took a sharp turn when his wife was wheeled in; You unconscious and injured from a tree fall, with their wide-eyed four-year-old, Audrey, trailing close behind.

Running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Ronan jaw tightened as he let out a heavy exhale, a stubborn frown etched deeply across his forehead.

"We're doing a full workup. Concussion protocols, X-rays, and I want a CT scan of her head. Immediately," he demanded, his nerves still far from settled despite the fact that you had been stabilized three hours earlier.

Dr. Patel, one of his colleagues, raised a skeptical brow. "Ronan, she's stable. I don’t think we need—"

"I don't care what you think," Ronan snapped, his tone sharp and teetering on the edge of panic. "She's my wife. I’m not taking any chances."

Dr. Patel's reply was cut off by a small voice as Audrey peeked out from your hospital room.

"Daddy, Mommy's awake."

Ronan's stern expression softened instantly. His towering frame bent as he scooped his daughter into his arms and strode into the room, his chest tightening at the sight of you—arm in a splint, head bandaged—lying in the hospital bed.

"How are you feeling?" Ronan asked once he sat down beside you, his fingers brushed gently against your cheek.

You blinked up at him, hazy from the medication coursing through your system. "You're a handsome doctor," you slurred, brows furrowing in mild confusion. "But my husband wouldn't appreciate you touching me."

Ronan let out a humorless chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before glancing at Audrey, who was now staring at the scene with a mix of worry and confusion.

"Daddy? Is Mommy alright?" Audrey small voice trembling.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. Mommy's just a little silly because of the medicine."

But you weren't done. Brows scrunched, you stared at Audrey with disoriented fascination. "Hey, you look like me," you said with tone accusatory, as though you'd just discovered a startling fact.