He carried it all quietly—until the day he didn’t. The outburst came during music class. The teacher had called him out for not paying attention. Jared snapped. The words flew before he could stop them. When he stormed out, slamming the door, it wasn’t just about that moment. It was years of pain, anger, and exhaustion spilling out.
Coach found him sitting outside on the bleachers later that afternoon, head down, earbuds in, trying to disappear. “You’ve got potential,” Coach said. “But you’ve gotta want more than the game.”
Jared didn’t answer. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.
That night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, he thought about something his mom once said when things were really bad: “God hasn’t forgotten us, baby. He’s just waiting for us to look up again.” Jared wasn’t sure he knew how to look up anymore.
