Chapter 13
The rematch felt bigger than the championship.
It wasn’t supposed to.
Coach kept saying, “It’s an exhibition. No trophy. No standings. Just baseball.”
But everyone knew.
The other team knew.
My team knew.
Parents knew.
Reporters from the local paper even showed up because adults loved stories about “community healing” when they could wrap pain in a nice headline.
Coach told them no interviews with me.
I loved him for that.
Dad and Aunt Laura sat in the bleachers.
This time, Dad did not bring Karen.
This time, there was no Karen.
Security stood near the gate in case she tried.
I wore my catcher’s gear and the new glove.
Before the game, I opened and closed it over and over.
Noah came over.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Cool. Me neither.”
“You’re nervous?”
“Dude, if I throw one wild pitch, your aunt looks like she’ll chase me with a bat.”
I glanced at Aunt Laura.
She waved cheerfully.
He wasn’t wrong.
We laughed.
The game started.
At first, I played stiff.
Every pitch felt like a test.
Every foul tip made my heart jump.
But inning by inning, the game became baseball again.
Dust.
Sweat.
Signals.
The sound of the ball hitting leather.
Coach’s voice.
Noah’s nod.
My breath behind the mask.
In the final inning, the score was tied.
Of course it was.
Two outs.
Runner on third.
Same batter.
Because life sometimes writes like it wants to see if you learned anything.
The batter stepped in.
Noah looked at me.
I called for a fastball outside.
He shook his head.
Curve.
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
Trust.
That was baseball too.
The pitch came.
The batter swung.
Crack.
A line drive.
Straight toward me.
For half a second, the whole field disappeared.
I was back in the championship.
Broken webbing.
Ball slipping through.
Karen’s slap.
Then I heard Mom’s voice in my memory.
Play brave.
I reached.
The ball hit my glove.
Hard.
The webbing held.
My hand stung.
I squeezed with everything I had.
Out.
The field erupted.
Not because we won a real championship.
Because something had been returned.
My team tackled me.
Noah screamed in my ear.
Lucas nearly knocked off my mask.
Coach laughed with tears in his eyes.
I looked toward the bleachers.
Dad was standing.
Crying.
Aunt Laura was crying too, though she would later deny it and blame allergies.
I lifted the glove.
Dad pressed both hands to his mouth.
For one bright minute, Karen did not exist.
After the game, the other coach shook my hand.
“Hell of a catch.”
“Thank you.”
The batter nodded at me.
“Glad your glove didn’t explode this time.”
I laughed.
So did he.
The local paper took a picture of the whole team, but Coach made sure the story focused on sportsmanship, not my trauma.
Still, Karen heard.
That night, Dad received a message from an unknown number.
A photo of the newspaper website.
My picture circled.
Under it:
Enjoy your pity game. Everyone knows he only won because they felt sorry for him.
Dad saved it.
Sent it to Detective Ellis.
Then looked at me.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I read the message again.
It hurt.
Of course it hurt.
But less than I expected.
“No,” I said. “She doesn’t get this game.”
Dad smiled faintly.
“No, she doesn’t.”
But Karen’s anger grew after that.
Her criminal hearing approached.
Her divorce response claimed Dad was emotionally unstable and that I had been coached to lie by Aunt Laura and Coach Thompson.
She requested access to my therapy records.
Naomi said no so firmly I wished I had recorded it.
Grace filed to block it.
The judge agreed.
Karen did not get my private thoughts.
That felt like another locked door.
Then, two weeks before the hearing, Ethan—my dad’s brother, Uncle Rob—called.
I had not heard from him since Christmas.
He asked Dad to meet.
Dad said only with Grace present.
Uncle Rob agreed.
That worried me.
They met at Grace’s office.
I waited at Aunt Laura’s house.
When Dad came back, he looked shaken.
“What happened?” I asked.
He sat at the table.
“Rob brought something.”
Aunt Laura leaned forward.
“What?”
Dad placed a flash drive on the table.
“Karen asked him to help move money from our joint account before the divorce. He refused. But she sent him documents.”
My stomach tightened.
“What documents?”
Dad looked at me.
“A life insurance inquiry.”
Aunt Laura cursed.
I didn’t understand at first.
Dad’s voice shook.
“She was looking into a policy on me. And one on you.”
The room went cold.
“On me?”
Dad nodded.
“She listed herself as potential guardian and beneficiary through marital estate planning.”
My ears rang.
Karen had wanted me gone before summer.
Residential program.
Behavior file.
Insurance.
Dad reached for my hand, then stopped.
I gave it to him.
His fingers were cold.
Aunt Laura’s voice was deadly calm.
“We are telling Detective Ellis now.”
Dad nodded.
Already dialing.
I stared at the flash drive.
My stepmother had slapped me for losing a game she rigged.
May you like
But it had never been about baseball.
It had been about removing me from my own life.
