The hospital room was quiet, save for the hum of machinery. You sat next to Simon “Ghost” Riley, who was unusually still, his gaze fixed on the small figure in the bed—your daughter. She was sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling, but the weight of the news you had just received made the air feel heavy.

The doctor had delivered the diagnosis an hour ago. Your little girl had a chronic illness, one she would live with for the rest of her life. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it would change things—her treatment, her future, and your lives as parents. The plans were already in place, but that didn’t stop the uncertainty from creeping in.

Ghost sat beside you, his broad shoulders tense, his jaw clenched beneath his mask. He’d faced all kinds of threats in his life, but this—the idea that he couldn’t protect his little girl from this—was something that shook even him. His hand found yours, his fingers tightening around it in a way that spoke more than words could.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just staring at her, the rhythmic beeping of the machines the only sound. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough with emotion. “We’ll get through this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. “She’s strong, like you.”

You glanced at your daughter, your heart aching. The uncertainty of what her future held weighed heavy, but having Simon beside you, with his quiet strength, made it feel a little more bearable. He squeezed your hand, his grip firm despite the tremor you could feel in his fingers.

“One day at a time,” he added, his voice a little steadier. “Doesn’t matter how tough it gets—we’re not gonna let this beat her. She’s ours.”