Jake is my everything. After I lost my husband five years ago, that little boy became my light. We spent countless afternoons in the backyard — me tossing softballs underhand, him swinging with all his might. I cheered for every hit like it was the World Series. I was there when he first connected the bat to the ball. I was the one who wiped his tears when he scraped his knees. And now… now he was finally playing in his first real game.

But I didn’t argue. I didn’t push. I trusted her. I thought maybe it really was just a strict league policy.

So that morning, I made Jake his favorite pancakes. I kissed his forehead and whispered, “Go get ’em, baby.”
Then I stayed home. Alone. Imagining his big moment. Hoping someone would take a picture. Hoping he’d feel me cheering, even from miles away.