The

  lights in the small office hummed softly, casting a cool glow across

  the metallic desk where Natalie Graves sat, hands poised above the

  case file open on her holoscreen. She took a slow breath, trying to

  ease the tightness in her chest as she scrolled through the

  heartbreaking list of losses associated with Michael Callahan Aubrey.

  Each entry was meticulously documented, a clinical record of a

  tragedy that seemed relentless. She felt like the bearer of a curse,

  a harbinger of bad news—this was the third time she’d been called

  to deliver the news of yet another family member lost.

  Michael’s mother, Isabella Rose Aubrey, had been her first

  encounter with the case. Natalie remembered Isabella well, though

  their meeting had been brief. Natalie Graves had only just started

  her internship at Family Services when she first encountered Isabella

  Rose Aubrey. She was new, green, and eager to learn, a little nervous

  about the daunting responsibilities ahead of her. On her third day,

  she was told to attend a presentation that Isabella Aubrey was giving

  for the new interns. Natalie hadn’t heard of Isabella before, but

  as she and her fellow interns gathered in the conference room, she

  sensed there was something special about this woman.

  When Isabella entered, she immediately commanded the room,

  radiating confidence and warmth. Tall and poised, with an animated

  expression that seemed to reflect her passion for her work, Isabella

  had the kind of presence that made you sit up straighter and lean

  forward, eager to hear what she had to say. Natalie found herself

  hanging on to every word as Isabella began to explain the essential

  role that education professionals could play in the lives of children

  coming into family services. She spoke with clarity and conviction

  about how teachers, counselors, and educational advocates could be

  powerful allies in the lives of vulnerable children.

  Isabella had prepared a thorough presentation, but she rarely

  glanced at her notes. Instead, she spoke from the heart, drawing on

  her own experiences in education and child psychology. She outlined

  the practical ways that collaboration between family services and

  educational services could change the trajectory of a child’s life.

  By working together, she explained, they could better address the

  needs of children who had already faced so much upheaval. Isabella

  spoke passionately about the importance of positive behavioral

  reinforcement, trauma-informed care, and creating safe environments

  that allowed kids to feel valued and heard, despite their difficult

  circumstances.

  Natalie noticed that Isabella didn’t just talk about strategies

  and procedures; she talked about the children themselves—their

  fears, their resilience, and their potential. She shared stories of

  students she had worked with, young lives she had seen transformed

  through careful guidance and compassion. Natalie was struck by how

  deeply Isabella seemed to understand these children, her belief in

  them shining through every word. She painted a picture of what could

  be possible when adults were willing to listen, to advocate, and to

  see beyond labels. It was clear that, for Isabella, this was not just

  a job but a calling.

  When the presentation ended, the room erupted in applause, and

  Natalie realized she wasn’t the only one moved. Even her more

  seasoned colleagues seemed visibly impacted by Isabella’s words. As

  people filed out, Natalie lingered, wanting a chance to speak to

  Isabella, if only for a moment. She felt a strange urge to tell her

  how much the talk had meant to her, how it had shifted her

  perspective on what she could accomplish in her own role. Finally,

  she worked up the courage and approached Isabella, catching her just

  as she was gathering her notes.

  “Ms. Aubrey, I just wanted to say thank you,” Natalie said,

  her voice a little shaky. “Your presentation—it really meant a

  lot to me. I… I’ve been feeling a little lost since I started

  here, but hearing you speak about these kids and the work we can do

  for them… it just made me feel like I could actually make a

  difference.”

  Isabella’s face softened into a warm smile, and she placed a

  reassuring hand on Natalie’s arm. “Thank you, Natalie,” she

  replied. “That means a lot to me. And you absolutely can make a

  difference. This work isn’t easy, but if you care about these

  kids—and I can tell that you do—then you’re already on the

  right path. Just remember, it’s not about being perfect; it’s

  about being present, showing up, and making sure these children know

  they’re not alone.”

  Isabella’s words stayed with Natalie long after that brief

  encounter. In just a few minutes, Isabella had managed to instill in

  her a renewed sense of purpose and direction. Natalie could feel that

  Isabella saw her as a partner in their shared mission, even though

  she was just a new intern. For years afterward, as Natalie

  encountered her own struggles and heartbreaks in her career, she

  would often think back to that moment, to the kindness and strength

  that Isabella had shown her. The brief meeting had been enough to

  plant a seed, a guiding light she would carry with her in the years

  to come.

  Natalie over the course of the 2 year internship learned that

  Isabella was not just a teacher but a compassionate advocate and

  dedicated researcher, fiercely committed to understanding the needs

  of her students and pushing for a more inclusive, understanding

  educational system. Her colleagues and students alike saw her as

  someone who could reach even the most challenging children, those

  that others had given up on. Her approach was grounded in respect and

  empathy, and she believed that every child, no matter how troubled,

  could be reached with the right approach.

  Driven by this belief, Isabella pursued multiple advanced degrees

  in child psychology with a focus on educational reform. She wanted to

  be a part of the solution to a system she saw as deeply flawed, a

  system that often punished children instead of helping them.

  Isabella’s work extended beyond the classroom. She became

  well-known among social service workers, school administrators, and

  even parents as the person to call when a child was labeled

  "difficult" or "troubled." She had a gift for

  seeing beyond the surface behaviors to the underlying issues,

  developing tailored strategies that focused on positive

  reinforcement, patience, and understanding rather than punishment or

  shame. She believed in empowering children, making them feel seen and

  valued even when they struggled.

  But Isabella’s life and work were cut tragically short. On a day

  that was supposed to be routine, she was visiting an elementary

  school as part of her research, observing students and working

  closely with teachers to implement her behavioral strategies. It was

  there that she encountered a horrifying situation: a non-custodial

  parent stormed the school, desperate and unhinged. He had already

  taken the lives of his ex-wife and her partner, and he now sought to

  take his daughter from the classroom by force.

  In the face of unimaginable danger, Isabella didn’t hesitate.

  She shielded a young girl, placing herself between the child and the

  armed man. Her instincts, the same ones that had driven her work with

  countless children, took over as she tried to defuse the situation,

  hoping to protect the innocent lives around her. In that brief,

  terrifying moment, Isabella’s courage and dedication to her

  principles shone through. But the encounter ended in tragedy—she

  was shot while trying to shield the girl, losing her life in the

  process. Michael, just six years old at the time, was left to face a

  world without his mother, grappling with a loss he could barely

  understand. And he became her first case not an hour after she had

  officially became a full family services worker.

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  Now, nine years later, he was fifteen, and it seemed as if death

  had a vendetta against his family. His grandparents, who had gained

  custody of him after Isabella’s death, had been his world for six

  years. Natalie glanced over the brief note she’d written back

  then—a kind couple, warmly remembered across the station for their

  contributions to the field of engineering. Michael’s grandfather

  had been a robotics engineer (designing, inventing, and building),

  while his grandmother was a large system engineer and architect

  (designed and built large systems for everything from life support to

  cargo handling in spaceports and stations), and together, they’d

  poured their skills into designing spaceports, stations, and

  industrial sites across multiple systems, before semi retiring and

  becoming professors with the university system for the various space

  station around the solar system. They were also devoted members of

  the Society of Friends, a peaceful organization, embodying patience

  and empathy in all their interactions.

  Natalie’s gaze drifted to the picture affixed to the file, a

  photo of Michael at age twelve. He stood between his grandparents,

  holding a robotic arm he’d built for a system-wide tournament, a

  spark of pride in his eyes. He was clearly gifted—he’d won first

  place, and Natalie remembered the community excitement around it. She

  could see the budding potential of an engineer or scientist, a trait

  passed down through generations of builders and makers. Yet, shortly

  after that victory, tragedy had struck again.

  The memory was sharp, vivid. The entire community had been shaken

  when an approaching ship mistakenly opened the outer not the inner

  door of a docking port that had been used during the flight from

  another system as a trash collection point and spare part holding

  area, released hundreds of pounds of spare parts and trash at the

  station like an over-sized cannon, shattering the view-port in the

  dining lounge where his grandparents had been enjoying dinner.

  Twenty-four people had died, Michael’s grandparents among them.

  She’d told him the news herself, sitting with him in his small room

  cluttered with scraps and tools. He’d said nothing, simply

  continued tinkering with a small drone as silent tears slid down his

  face.

  Michael had been placed under the care of his great-uncle after

  that, a seasoned spacecraft engineer who managed repair yard. He,

  too, had seen the spark in Michael and encouraged him to work with

  the dockworkers' union part-time. Despite all the loss, Michael

  thrived in that environment, learning quickly, building and repairing

  things that few adults could handle with such ease. He even gained

  his own union badge—a rare honor for someone so young.

  Yet here Natalie sat, once again, about to deliver yet another

  blow. His great-uncle had died a just a few hours ago in a workplace

  accident when a new hire energized a system that his great-uncle had

  been working on. A fatal error, just one flick of a switch, had

  stolen the last person Michael had left.

  With a sigh, Natalie closed the file, knowing she couldn’t delay

  any longer. She had to go and face Michael. He was waiting in the

  common lounge, likely tinkering with something he’d brought along.

  She stood, grabbing her notepad and smoothing her jacket, trying to

  brace herself for what lay ahead. The corridors felt especially cold

  and sterile as she walked, her footsteps echoing faintly against the

  metal walls. It was a calm reminder of the isolation that was so

  common on stations like these.

  As she approached the lounge, she spotted him immediately. Michael

  sat on the floor, cross-legged, bent over what looked like a cleaning

  drone. He was intensely focused, fingers deftly adjusting a piece of

  circuitry. She watched him for a moment, letting him have just a few

  more seconds of peace. He was tall for his age, with an angular face

  that had started to lose the softness of childhood. He looked up as

  she approached, his sharp green eyes piercing her with a look that

  was both guarded and resigned. He knew why she was here.

  "Michael," she greeted, forcing a gentle smile that she

  knew didn’t fool him.

  He gave a slight nod, placing the drone aside. "Ms. Graves,"

  he replied, voice quiet.

  Natalie took a seat across from him, hands folded in her lap. "I

  wanted to check in and see how you’ve been," she began, giving

  him the chance to lead, to share anything he might be feeling.”

  He shrugged, his gaze dropping to his hands. "I’ve been

  working with some of the other engineers at the yard," he said,

  his voice low but steady. "Finishing a freighter that Uncle Alex

  had off to the side for me to work on."

  Micheal had been away for the past week participating in a school

  academic tournament. He been notified by one of the supervisors from

  the yard that their had been an accident, his Uncle (everyone keeps

  forgetting the Great part) was hurt bad. That Family services was

  going to have to give him the updates. They supervisor had let him

  work in the yard till they received word that Family services had

  sent for him.

  Natalie nodded, feeling the familiar ache for him. "That’s

  good. I know how much you valued working with him. He taught you a

  lot, didn’t he?"

  "Yeah. He did." There was a pause, then he looked up at

  her, almost defiant. "Just tell me, Ms. Graves. I know why

  you’re here."

  The directness of his tone cut through her rehearsed words. She

  swallowed, knowing he deserved honesty. "Michael, I’m so

  sorry. There was an accident at the yard. Your uncle… he didn’t

  make it."

  For a moment, he didn’t react. He stared at her, and she watched

  the way his face flickered between shock and something harder,

  something she could only describe as a well-practiced numbness.

  He dropped his head, letting out a long breath. “Everyone keeps

  dying,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

  Natalie felt the words pierce her, felt the weight of every sorrow

  this boy had carried for so long. “Michael, it’s not fair. None

  of it is. You’ve lost so much, and… I wish I could make it right.

  I’m here to help however I can.”

  “Help?” He laughed bitterly, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “How? By finding another family member I don’t know about who’ll

  die in two years?”

  His words stung, but she couldn’t deny them. He was right; this

  pattern was horrific, and her role had been to manage it, not fix it.

  She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Michael, I’m

  here because I care about you, and I want you to know you’re not

  alone in this. There are options for your future, and I’ll do

  whatever I can to help you make the life you deserve.”

  He was quiet, staring at his hands. “Everyone keeps saying that,

  but it doesn’t change anything. I’m just… I’m alone now.

  Really alone.” He gestured to the drone, the small, unfinished

  piece of tech in his lap. “Machines don’t die on you, Ms. Graves.

  I’d rather stick with them.”

  She nodded, unable to argue. In that moment, she understood that

  Michael’s heart, his loyalty, had turned toward the things he could

  fix, the things he could build. And maybe, she thought, that was his

  way of surviving.

  “Then let’s make a plan,” she said gently. “We can talk to

  the dockworkers’ union, see if they can give you more hours, even a

  training placement if you’re interested. I can work with you on

  designing a path that’s… yours.”

  He glanced up, a sliver of interest in his eyes. “You mean, I

  wouldn’t have to leave the yard?”

  She shook her head. “Not if that’s what you want.”

  For the first time, his shoulders relaxed a little, a faint

  glimmer of relief in his expression. “I… I think that’s what

  I’d want.”

  Natalie smiled softly. She could never bring his family back, but

  maybe, she thought, she could help him find a future that would let

  him honor their memory in the way he knew best—by building

  something solid, something that wouldn’t break.

  “Then let’s get started, Michael.”