The rest of the day was a nightmare. Notes were passed. “Liar.” “Stolen Valor.” “Orphan.” Jason tripped me in the hallway, sending my books flying.

“Where’s your commando mommy now?” he laughed as I scrambled to pick up my math homework.

I went home that afternoon to an empty house. Mom was gone again. “Training,” the note on the fridge said. It always said training. Or “Conference.” Or “Consulting.” I looked at the challenge coin on my dresser. maybe they were right. Maybe she was just an analyst. Maybe she was a cook. Maybe I was the stupid one for believing that the woman who did pull-ups in the garage at 3 AM with a weighted vest was a superhero.

I went to sleep wishing I was anyone else.

But the next morning, the atmosphere at school felt… heavy. The air was thick, like right before a thunderstorm.