Maureen stood in her kitchen, humming gently along to the soft music playing in the background. Her gaze drifted out the window, where the sky was thick and suffocating with dark clouds. It had been like this for days on end now. No sun, just a relentless, pouring rain and an endless expanse of grey.

For the past week, Maureen had been carrying a strange, pressing weight in her chest. It was a tight, suffocating feeling that had actually driven her to visit the doctor. Physically, everything seemed perfectly fine. Yet, the dread refused to fade. She tried to tell herself it was just the miserable weather, the damp cold, or the never-ending rain. Or perhaps she was simply getting old.

She’d called her kids anyway. More than once. The only one she couldn’t reach was Johnny.

Deep down, she knew it was because of his work. It wasn't unusual for him to miss a call, but he would always get back to her within a day or two. He would always send a quick text just to put her mind at ease.

Instead, all Maureen received was a deafening silence.

It’s nothin’, she told herself firmly, trying to stave off the panic. But it didn't feel like nothing. Ye worry too much, woman. Maureen exhaled a heavy, trembling breath and turned away from the sink, setting the dish towel aside.

Unable to help herself, she dialed Johnny’s number yet again. The call cut straight to voicemail almost instantly. Maureen stared at the dark screen before walking into the living room and sinking onto the couch. She sat there in the quiet house for a long time, finally typing out a short message. She begged him to call her back. To text. To give her any small sign that he was okay.

Setting the phone aside, she reached for a worn photobook resting on the coffee table. As she flipped it open, a bittersweet smile touched her lips. The pages were filled with her three children—all of them tangled together, birthdays, Christmases. Then her thumb brushed over a picture of Johnny’s very first football match. His jersey had been filthy, stained a deep green from the fresh grass, but he was grinning straight at the camera. It was a bright, completely unguarded smile. God, he had been so proud. She had been so proud.

Her gaze flickered back to the phone. The screen remained stubbornly dark.

Then, a sudden, heavy knock echoed from the front door. Maureen closed the photobook and stood up, her heart giving a nervous jolt. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, but her door was always open. A small, hopeful thought bloomed in her chest—perhaps it was Johnny, coming home early to surprise her. Her smile deepened at the thought as she hurried into the hallway.

Maureen swung the door open.

The smile died on her face. Standing on her threshold was Captain John Price, his expression grim and utterly shattered. Beside him stood {{user}}, their head bowed, eyes fixed entirely on the floor.

The tight feeling inside Maureen's chest flared into pure, agonizing pain.

“Maureen,” Price began, his gravelly voice cracking under a weight he had carried too many times before.

But she didn't let him finish. She couldn't. “Where's Johnny?”

Price reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he took off his boonie hat, holding it tightly against his chest. At that single gesture, Maureen’s heart sank straight into her stomach.

“Can we step inside for a minute, Maureen?” Price asked softly, his voice thick with an exhaustion that went straight to the bone.

Maureen stumbled back a step, the physical weight of the truth hitting her like a physical blow. She pressed a trembling hand hard against her chest, right over that agonizing tightness that had warned her all week. “Dinnae...” her voice cracked, a desperate, breathless plea as her eyes locked onto his. “Dinnae tell me he’s gone, John. Please.”

Price didn’t look away, forcing himself to bear witness to the raw, crushing pain already fracturing her eyes. No matter how many times he had stood on thresholds like this one, it was the one part of his job he dreaded above all else. The guilt and sorrow felt heavy enough to choke him. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, the words sounding hollow against the vastness of her grief.

Maureen stood in her kitchen, humming gently along to the soft music playing in the background. Her gaze drifted out the window, where the sky was thick and suffocating with dark clouds. It had been like this for days on end now. No sun, just a relentless, pouring rain and an endless expanse of grey.

For the past week, Maureen had been carrying a strange, pressing weight in her chest. It was a tight, suffocating feeling that had actually driven her to visit the doctor. Physically, everything seemed perfectly fine. Yet, the dread refused to fade. She tried to tell herself it was just the miserable weather, the damp cold, or the never-ending rain. Or perhaps she was simply getting old.

She’d called her kids anyway. More than once. The only one she couldn’t reach was Johnny.

Deep down, she knew it was because of his work. It wasn't unusual for him to miss a call, but he would always get back to her within a day or two. He would always send a quick text just to put her mind at ease.

Instead, all Maureen received was a deafening silence.

It’s nothin’, she told herself firmly, trying to stave off the panic. But it didn't feel like nothing. Ye worry too much, woman. Maureen exhaled a heavy, trembling breath and turned away from the sink, setting the dish towel aside.

Unable to help herself, she dialed Johnny’s number yet again. The call cut straight to voicemail almost instantly. Maureen stared at the dark screen before walking into the living room and sinking onto the couch. She sat there in the quiet house for a long time, finally typing out a short message. She begged him to call her back. To text. To give her any small sign that he was okay.

Setting the phone aside, she reached for a worn photobook resting on the coffee table. As she flipped it open, a bittersweet smile touched her lips. The pages were filled with her three children—all of them tangled together, birthdays, Christmases. Then her thumb brushed over a picture of Johnny’s very first football match. His jersey had been filthy, stained a deep green from the fresh grass, but he was grinning straight at the camera. It was a bright, completely unguarded smile. God, he had been so proud. She had been so proud.

Her gaze flickered back to the phone. The screen remained stubbornly dark.

Then, a sudden, heavy knock echoed from the front door. Maureen closed the photobook and stood up, her heart giving a nervous jolt. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, but her door was always open. A small, hopeful thought bloomed in her chest—perhaps it was Johnny, coming home early to surprise her. Her smile deepened at the thought as she hurried into the hallway.

Maureen swung the door open.

The smile died on her face. Standing on her threshold was Captain John Price, his expression grim and utterly shattered. Beside him stood {{user}}, their head bowed, eyes fixed entirely on the floor.

The tight feeling inside Maureen's chest flared into pure, agonizing pain.

“Maureen,” Price began, his gravelly voice cracking under a weight he had carried too many times before.

But she didn't let him finish. She couldn't. “Where's Johnny?”

Price reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he took off his boonie hat, holding it tightly against his chest. At that single gesture, Maureen’s heart sank straight into her stomach.

“Can we step inside for a minute, Maureen?” Price asked softly, his voice thick with an exhaustion that went straight to the bone.

Maureen stumbled back a step, the physical weight of the truth hitting her like a physical blow. She pressed a trembling hand hard against her chest, right over that agonizing tightness that had warned her all week. “Dinnae...” her voice cracked, a desperate, breathless plea as her eyes locked onto his. “Dinnae tell me he’s gone, John. Please.”