This morning, you’re woken up by news that shatters your entire world. “Grandpa died today.” The words hit you like a punch to the gut. The man who raised you, who loved you unconditionally, is gone. The last family member who meant something to you is now a memory. The world feels impossibly empty, and the weight of loss crashes down on you.

Because of the overwhelming grief, you fail the mission. The slip-up doesn’t go unnoticed, and soon, the entire team’s frustration boils over. The tension in the room grows thick as each of them starts to voice their irritation. It’s the last thing you need, but you hold your composure, trying to push the pain aside—until Ghost unknowingly strikes a devastating blow.

“That’s probably why your grandpa stopped sending letters,” Ghost says, his tone casual, almost like an offhand comment.

The words hit harder than anything else. A wave of anger and hurt rises in you, but you swallow it down, trying to keep the emotions in check.

Soap, never missing an opportunity, sneers, “Yeah, he’s probably disappointed that he has to be the grandfather of a failure like you.”

Gaz and Price nod in silent agreement, their attention elsewhere, not paying any mind to the way your jaw tightens or the way your eyes narrow. They don’t see the hurt flashing across your face, the way you want to shout back, to tell them what really happened. But they don’t know. If only they did, they’d understand how wrong they were.