The hospital room was too white. White walls. White sheets. White light that made everything feel exposed, fragile. Simon Riley stood near the back wall, broad shoulders stiff, arms folded tight across his chest like he could hold himself together if he tried hard enough. He looked like he did on missions. But this wasn’t a battlefield. This was worse. Charlotte lay propped up against thin pillows, her once warm complexion now pale beneath the fluorescent lights. The illness had taken weight from her, strength from her voice but it hadn’t taken her softness. It hadn’t taken the way she looked at her daughter like the world began and ended there. {{user}} sat on the edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling, fingers twisted into the fabric of the blanket. She’d been quiet for too long. Children were meant to fill spaces with noise. “Mum?” {{user}}’s voice was small. “When are we going home?” Charlotte’s breath hitched, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Simon noticed. He noticed everything. “Soon,” Charlotte said gently. “But I need to talk to you first, sweetheart.”

{{user}}’s brows pulled together. She didn’t like serious tones. Charlotte reached out, brushing her fingers through {{user}}’s hair. The movement was slower than it used to be, but just as tender. “Do you remember when we talked about big words?” Charlotte asked softly. “Words that mean something important?” {{user}} sniffed. “Like…extraordinary?” Charlotte smiled faintly. “Yes. Like that.” Simon stared at the floor. He knew what was coming. He didn’t know how to survive it. “There’s another one,” Charlotte continued. “Magnum opus.” {{user}} blinked, confused. “Magnum opus,” Charlotte repeated, her voice almost a whisper now. “It means someone’s greatest work. Their masterpiece. The most important thing they ever created.” {{user}} frowned slightly. “Like a painting?” “Yes,” Charlotte breathed. “Or a book. Or something someone pours all their love into.” Silence stretched between them. {{user}}’s fingers tightened in the blanket again. “What’s yours?” The question was innocent. Curious. Simon’s jaw clenched. Charlotte didn’t hesitate. “You.”

{{user}} stilled. “You,” Charlotte repeated, her eyes shining now. “You are my magnum opus. My greatest achievement. The best thing that ever happened to me.” {{user}} shook her head immediately. “No, I’m not. I’m just me.” Charlotte let out a soft, shaky laugh. “Exactly.” Simon turned slightly away, pressing his knuckles against his mouth. His vision blurred, and he hated that he couldn’t stop it. Charlotte continued, her voice trembling but steady in meaning. “You made my life…bigger. Brighter. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made.” {{user}}’s breathing quickened. “Why are you saying it like that?” she whispered. Charlotte’s fingers trembled as she cupped her daughter’s cheek. “Because sometimes,” she said gently, “people don’t get to stay as long as they want to.” {{user}} pulled back slightly. “You’re staying.” Charlotte swallowed. Simon couldn’t look anymore. He stared at the heart monitor instead. Steady. Beeping. Mocking. “Bug,” Charlotte said softly, “my body is very tired. The doctors have tried everything they can.” “No,” {{user}} said immediately, shaking her head harder now. “No, they’ll fix it. Dad can fix it.”

Simon’s chest caved in at that. Charlotte’s voice broke for the first time. “Oh, sweetheart…” {{user}}’s eyes filled with tears. “You can’t go. Who’s going to braid my hair? Who’s going to help me with school? Who’s going to—” Her words dissolved into sobs. Charlotte pulled her in carefully, wincing at the effort but refusing to let go. “Your dad will,” she whispered into {{user}}’s hair. “He will learn. He will try. And he will love you enough for both of us.” Simon couldn’t stand back anymore. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand settling on {{user}}’s back while the other took Charlotte’s fragile fingers in his. “I’ve got her,” he said quietly, leaning closer, forehead nearly touching Charlotte’s.