The call came at 4:27 p.m.—a number I’ll never forget, seared into my mind like a brand. The voice on the other end was calm, clinical, saying words that didn’t make sense. Accident. Blackwood Highway. Critical condition. Atheria General.

My hands shook as I grabbed my keys. The world blurred around me—colors smeared, sounds distant, like I was underwater. I told myself there had to be a mistake. Not Simon. Anyone but Simon.

The drive to Atheria was a haze of screeching tires and pounding heartbeats. Every curve of the road clawed at my chest. That stretch of Blackwood—we’d driven it a hundred times as kids. We used to race bikes down that winding hill, Simon always faster, always grinning back at me like he was daring me to catch up.

But I wasn’t fast enough now.

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and finality. A nurse tried to guide me gently, but I was already pushing past her. I saw the doctor’s face before he spoke. That heavy, practiced expression of someone who’s delivered this kind of devastation too many times.

“He didn’t make it.”

The world stopped.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My knees gave out somewhere between the hallway and the viewing room. And when I saw him—still, peaceful, a faint bruise along his jaw—I shattered.

Simon. My brother. My other half. Gone.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted salt.

Then I heard her. A sound I’ll never forget. Not a cry—something deeper. Like her soul was breaking open. {{user}} collapsed at the foot of his bed, hands trembling, face buried against the cold sheet.

I went to her without thinking, kneeling beside her. My arms wrapped around her instinctively, protectively. Her body shook against mine, and I held her tighter.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice. “I’m here for you. Always.”

She cried until her strength gave out. I felt the moment she went limp, and I caught her before she hit the floor.

Nurses rushed in, voices rising in urgency. I stepped back only when they led her away, eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion.

The doctor pulled me aside. “She’s pregnant,” she said quietly.

The words hit harder than anything else. A child. Simon’s child.

Later, I was allowed to sit beside her. She looked so small in that bed, curled toward where he used to be. I reached for her hand, my fingers trembling. From my coat pocket, I took the ring—still warm from my grip.

I laid it in her palm and closed her fingers around it.

“He wanted you to have this, {{user}},” I said. My voice cracked. “He loved you more than anything. He was so proud of the life you were building. I don’t know how we’re supposed to go on without him… but I do know this—he would want you to remember that love. To hold onto it. And I’ll be here for you… and the baby. For as long as you need me.”

And I meant every word.