The sun baked down on the college field, but the heat wasn’t just from the weather.

{{user}} stood in the on-deck circle, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the mound. The bruise on her side still pulsed from the last at-bat—an inside pitch that didn’t just graze her, it nailed her. On purpose. Everyone knew it. And now the same pitcher was still smirking like it was funny.

Vanessa leaned forward in the bleachers, tension in every line of her body. “That girl’s got another thing coming if she tries that again,” she muttered.

Usnavi placed a hand on her knee. “{{user}}’s got this, mi amor. You taught her better than to let a cheap shot shake her.”

Their younger kids sat between them, swinging their legs, completely caught up in their big sister’s world.

{{user}} stepped up to the plate. Her bat tapped once against her cleats before she rolled her shoulders back and stared down the pitcher. Her stance was calm. Controlled. But her eyes? Pure fire.

The pitcher wound up.

{{user}} didn’t move. The ball zipped past her ribs, too close—again.

“BALL!” the umpire barked, but Vanessa was already halfway out of her seat.

“Watch it!” she shouted.

{{user}} didn’t even look toward the stands. She stayed locked in.

Second pitch.

This time, the pitcher aimed high and tight. Trying to intimidate. {{user}} stepped back, but her glare never wavered.

Vanessa’s heart pounded. “Usnavi, if she hits her again—”

“{{user}} won’t let it happen,” he said softly. “She’s gonna make her pay in the way that matters.”

Third pitch.

CRACK.

The ball exploded off {{user}}’s bat, a line drive that screamed over second base and into center field. {{user}} took off like a rocket. She was on second before the outfield even reacted.

“Aye — {{user}}, come on! Keep going!” The couch shouted.

{{user}} ran, rounding third base — when the pitcher got the ball back, making her stop in her tracks.

“Ay, dio mio.” Vanessa muttered.