The phone call came just after midnight, shattering the silence of Owen Clark’s apartment. He was still half-dressed from the late hockey practice, the sound of blades on ice and the smell of cold rink air clinging to him. At first, he thought it was one of his players—some freshman caught drinking off-campus again—but when the dispatcher said her name, his chest went tight.

“Your niece {{user}} sir. She’s been in an accident.”

He didn’t remember pulling on his jacket or finding his keys. Just the rush of adrenaline and the sick weight that settled in his gut as he tore down the highway toward the flashing red and blue lights.

The crash site was chaos. Broken glass glittered on the road like frost under the harsh glare of the police lights. The other car had already been cleared, but hers—his niece’s—sat crumpled near the guardrail, one headlight still flickering weakly. She wasn’t supposed to be out. She wasn’t supposed to be with that friend, the one who always smelled like beer and bad decisions.

He spotted her before anyone told him where to look.

The paramedics were bent over her, voices calm but urgent, hands moving carefully over her small frame. She looked so young. She was young. Too young to have gone through what she already had, too young to be carrying a child—his sister’s grandchild—while trying to figure out how to keep herself together.

Owen’s breath came shallow. The sight of her belly under the paramedic’s jacket made his throat burn. He’d known she was far along, of course—he’d been the one taking her to appointments, making sure she ate, setting up the spare room after her parents told her to leave. He’d sworn to himself he’d keep her safe.

And now this.

The officer on scene recognized him—Coach Clark, local hero, good with kids, always the calm one. But as he stepped under the flashing lights and saw his niece’s pale face turn toward him, every bit of that calm cracked.

She whispered his name, voice thin and scared.

And Owen realized then that nothing he’d done—no rink pep talks, no structured routines, no late-night reassurances—could have prepared him for this