The soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the quiet office as Simon Riley sat at his desk, hunched over a thick stack of mission reports. His pen scratched rhythmically across the paper, each stroke measured and precise. Beside him, his wife and fellow soldier, {{user}}, mirrored his focus, her brow furrowed in concentration as she reviewed a dossier. The comfort of routine wrapped around them like a warm blanket—until Simon's phone buzzed.

The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number.

He paused mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing. Probably spam, he thought. Or worse—some scammer. But something primal twisted in his gut, a sense of unease threading its way through his chest. Without looking away from the screen, he answered.

“Simon Riley speaking. Who is this?” he said, his voice even, but his free hand curled slightly with tension.

{{user}} glanced up at him, sensing the subtle shift in his tone. He met her eyes briefly, then turned his attention fully to the voice on the other end.

“Mr. Riley,” came the voice—firm, clinical, and urgent. “This is Dr. James from Spire Manchester Hospital. I’m calling to inform you that your son, Alex, has been admitted to the ICU. According to your babysitter, Jenna, he was found unresponsive in the backyard pool. We believe he drowned. I’m very sorry. We need you and your wife to come to the hospital immediately.”

The words struck like a sledgehammer.

Simon’s heart lurched. For a split second, he couldn’t breathe. His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles white, as if holding it too loosely might make the news unreal. His mind reeled—Alex? The pool? Drowned? Their three-year-old son was supposed to be safe, home, laughing and playing under watchful care.

A sudden rush of cold swept through his body.

He shot up from his chair, the wooden legs scraping sharply against the floor. With a trembling hand, he reached out and gave {{user}}’s thigh a firm pat—not just to get her attention, but to ground himself. The gesture was shaky, desperate.

“We’re coming. Now,” he said, voice low and clipped, brimming with panic beneath the surface.

He ended the call without waiting for a response, the finality of the click echoing in the heavy silence that followed.