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The baseball glove felt like an extension of Leo’s own hand. It was a worn, chestnut-brown Rawlings, broken in over a thousand games of catch with his dad. Now, the glove sat on the floor of his cramped studio apartment, taunting him. Next to it was a dented can of cheap lager and the source of his shame: a brand-new, rock-hard baseball.

Leo’s stomach bottomed out. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gable. I’ll pay for it.” renters insurance broken window

He texted his ex a single word: “Boat?” The baseball glove felt like an extension of

She replied with a question mark. He didn’t answer. Instead, he put the phone down, picked up the stress ball, and squeezed it until his hand ached. Next to it was a dented can of

Leo hadn’t meant to throw it inside. He’d just been fiddling, tossing it an inch into the air, trying to find the sweet spot. Then his phone buzzed—a text from his ex-girlfriend with a photo of her smiling next to some guy on a boat. Frustration flared. He wound up and fired the ball not at the wall, but through it.