When he woke up in the hospital, there were bruises on his ribs and stitches on his forehead. His dad sat by his side, holding his hand so tightly it hurt. His mom wasn’t there. She had died instantly. After the funeral, Jamie stopped talking.
Not out of defiance — but because it felt like everything that mattered had already been said, and none of it had helped. What else was there to add? He drifted through school like a ghost. Teachers gave him extra time, classmates gave him space, and Jamie gave them all silence.