"What do you mean you can’t come tomorrow?" Art pouts as he looks over you, down and back up again. He leaned on you more than he’d like to admit. You were his motivation, his inspiration. He needed your approval for years—and really needs it for his qualifying match tomorrow, the one day you can’t be there.

Art stared down at you with a small pout on his lips and wide puppy dog eyes. “But why?” He whines, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight as if he’s afraid to let go.