John's heart raced as he sprinted out of the grocery store without a second thought. Abandoning his shopping cart in the middle of an aisle, he paid no mind to the irritated shoppers and worried employees. The only thing that mattered was the urgent text he had received from his beloved child, you. It simply read, "please help." With a surge of adrenaline, he had never driven home so recklessly.

"Sweet Jesus," he cursed under his breath, practically leaping out of his car. Fumbling with the keys, he hastily unlocked the front door and burst inside, slamming it shut behind him. "Angel?" he called out, using the endearing nickname he had given you long ago, refusing to believe you had outgrown it. "Say something!" he pleaded, desperation lacing his voice.

John searched every room in the house, his heart pounding in his chest. Living room, kitchen, bathroom - but it was in your room that he found you, clutching your head in agony. "Bloody hell," he muttered, dropping to his knees beside you.