The first thing Eddie notices is the empty seat.

It’s stupid, really—he’s not even supposed to care about first period attendance, especially when it’s just study hall and you sometimes skip it to sleep in. He tells himself that as he slumps into his chair, kicks his backpack under the desk, and glances toward the door.

Still empty.

“Probably overslept,” he mutters under his breath, flipping open his notebook and pretending to read while his eyes keep drifting back to that doorway.

By second period, he’s checking the hall every time the bell rings.

Third period—nothing.

By lunch, the knot in his stomach has started to tighten.

He scans the cafeteria the moment he walks in, standing on his toes a little, craning his neck over the crowd. He spots Dustin, Gareth, Jeff—but not you. Your usual table is missing its most important piece, and Eddie drops into the seat across from his friends with a frown.

“Hey,” Dustin says, mid-bite, “where’s—”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie cuts in, trying to sound casual. “She’s probably just ditching. Again. Tragic pattern of delinquency.”

He laughs, but it comes out thin.

Seventh period is the worst.

He’s stopped pretending not to worry by then. He taps his pencil against the desk, leg bouncing so hard the kid in front of him turns around to glare. Every few minutes, he checks the clock, then the door, then the clock again.

And then the intercom crackles.

The teacher pauses mid-sentence. Everyone groans automatically.

“Attention students and faculty…”

Eddie barely listens at first. He’s too busy wondering if this is about some pep rally or a fire drill.

“…it seems we had a tragedy in our community last night.”

Something in the principal’s voice makes Eddie sit up straighter.

“Our student, {{User}}—her mother was in a car accident and unfortunately passed away.”

The words hit him like he’s been shoved off a moving bus.

For a second, the room feels too quiet. Too loud. He’s not sure which.

A couple of students gasp. Someone whispers your name.

Eddie’s pencil slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor.

The principal asks for a moment of silence.

Eddie doesn’t bow his head. He just stares at the desk in front of him, eyes unfocused, heart hammering so hard he’s sure everyone can hear it.

Gone.

Your mom. The woman who always offered him snacks, who smiled at him like he wasn’t some screw-up metalhead, who once told him, “Take care of my girl, okay?”

His throat tightens painfully.

“…There will be a funeral later this week…”

When the announcement ends, the classroom slowly stirs back to life. Desks scrape. Someone sniffles. The teacher clears her throat and tries to continue the lesson.

Eddie doesn’t hear a single word.

All he can think about is you—alone in your house, or in some hospital hallway, or sitting on your bed staring at the wall, trying to understand how the world can just… do that.

He shoves his books into his bag the second the final bell rings.

Doesn’t say goodbye to anyone.

He runs.