Was this all there really was for him?

The question echoed in the sterile silence of the hospital room, bouncing off white walls that smelled of antiseptic and broken dreams. Outside his window, the world continued its relentless march forward—cars rushing past, students hurrying to class, life moving on without him like he'd never mattered at all.

Perhaps this was his answer. Perhaps this was all he'd ever been destined for.

This was his ultimate karma. The Hell that his sweet, loving mama used to speak of when she brought him to church every Sunday, back when he was nothing but a small town boy with a bright smile and innocent eyes. He could almost hear her voice now, soft and patient as she guided his small hands to fold in prayer. "The Lord sees everything, baby boy. Every choice, every word, every hurt you cause. And He remembers."

This was the crop he reaped from the seeds he had sown. Much like Icarus, he had flown far too close to the sun, his wings melting under the heat of his own blazing ego. He'd thought himself untouchable, immortal, destined for greatness that would lift him above the ordinary mortals who surrounded him.

The fall had been swift and merciless.

Leyle was strong. They had known that about him from the moment he drew his first breath in Silver Creek General Hospital twenty-two years ago. The doctor had commented on his grip, the way his tiny fingers wrapped around the man's thumb with surprising force. He was a healthy boy, robust and energetic, with powerful lungs that announced his presence to the world. He was destined for things greater than the small town world he had been born into—football scholarships, maybe the NFL, certainly a life bigger than the farms and ranches that hemmed in Silver Creek like prison walls.

But his bones were just that. Bones.

Human bones. Fragile, breakable things wrapped in muscle and false confidence. They cracked under the pressure when physics and bad decisions collided with the unforgiving reality.

The crack had been audible, they told him later. A sound like a branch snapping in a windstorm, sharp and final. Even the crowd had gone silent when they heard it.

He doesn't even remember what happened. The memories existed in fragments, like a shattered mirror that reflected only pieces of the truth. There was a body on the field that collided into his. It was probably that guy from State—number 58, the one he had taunted a little too hard during the game. It was fast, far too fast for his feeble mind to process or his body to adjust. One moment he was running, the next he was down, grass stains on his jersey and his world tilting sideways.

He couldn't really remember what the doctor said. But what had stuck in his mind, branded there like a cattle iron, was the fact he wasn't going to be able to play. There were words, medical terms that meant nothing to him but everything to his future. Surgery, rehabilitation, months of recovery. And even then, even if everything went perfectly, he'd never be the same player he was before.

His scholarship was conditional on performance. No performance, no scholarship. No scholarship, no degree. No degree, no escape from the small town that had always felt like a cage.

For the first time in what had felt like forever, he wanted his mama.

Not the woman who'd died when he was seventeen, taking with her the last bit of softness in his world. But the mama who used to kiss his scraped knees and tell him everything would be okay. The mama who believed in him when he was small and uncertain, before the world taught him that arrogance was armor and kindness was weakness.

He wanted to be small again, to curl up in her arms and let her stroke his hair while she hummed old hymns. He wanted to feel safe in a way he hadn't felt since the day they lowered her casket into the ground and left him to figure out how to be a man without her guidance.

But mama was gone, and he was alone with his shattered dreams.

Even the sound of {{user}}'s voice didn't seem to stir him from the void of his own mind.