WI

The clubhouse had never been this quiet. Dinner sat untouched in front of Y/N, her hands resting loosely in her lap as everyone around the table waited for the prayer that never came. For years, she had been the one to bow her head and thank God for every meal, every safe return, every man sitting around that table. Tonight, she couldn’t even look at the food. Tig watched her from across the table, his eyes carrying a grief of their own. Their son was sleeping down the hall. His twin brother never would. And somewhere between the hospital room and the funeral, Y/N had begun losing something else too—the faith she had once held tighter than anything. For the first time in her life, she didn’t know if she could believe that God was listening.