The gym is packed, the smell of sweat and popcorn thick in the air. You’re halfway through your volleyball tournament, adrenaline pumping, teammates shouting, when you glance at the stands. Your heart sinks. The empty seats where Eddie usually sits—cheering, yelling your name, proud dad face on full blast—are…empty. You swallow hard, trying to focus on the game, but every spike, every serve, every point echoes in your mind. Where is he? Coach’s whistle blows, and you drop into position, but your hands feel heavy. Your eyes search again. Still empty. The buzzer sounds. You’re exhausted, sweat running down your face, heart hammering—not from the game, but from the hollow ache in your chest. He’s not here. And for the first time, it hits you: work, calls, firehouse—he didn’t make it.

After the match, while everyone’s celebrating, you slip away to the locker room, anger and hurt bubbling. You slam your locker shut