The Lonely Child Holding A Fragile Lantern

World Cup final day, the city roared. I sat alone in the silent living room, staring at four faded jerseys on the table—Dad’s number 10, Mason’s 7, Noah’s goalie kit, and Mom’s bright red supporter shirt she’d worn to every game.

Past tournaments, we’d cram into this room, eating barbecue and screaming at the TV. Dad once promised, “Graduate high school, Andrea, and we’ll all go live.” I’d graduated. But they’d taken my adopted sister Beth to Cabo for the final. In Mason’s post, Beth sat center, radiant. His caption: A family of four, finally whole.I stared until the words blurred.