Her fingers tremble in mine.
“And I underestimated your work,” he continues. “Not because it lacked value. Because I know nothing about art and therefore treated my ignorance as judgment.”
Katia lets out a disbelieving little huff.
Coach ignores her.
“I was wrong about that too,” he says. “Your paintings are selling for prices I find frankly irrational.”
Talia lets out a startled laugh through what looks suspiciously like tears.
“But I have been told that means they are very good,” he adds, with the grave sincerity of a man reporting battlefield data.
I can’t help it. I laugh.
Then I lift Talia’s hand under the table and squeeze it once, hard.
She glances at me, eyes shining, and I can see how much this costs her to hear. How much it means.
Coach reaches for his glass, then stops halfway. He sets it back down.
He looks at both of them. Then at me. Then back at the table, as if gathering whatever courage this requires.
“I have made a decision,” he says.
The room stills again.
“I will resign as coach of the Metro Raptors after this season.”
For one second I genuinely think I misheard him.
The table goes completely silent.
“What?” Katia blurts first.
Talia turns so fast toward him her hair swings over her shoulder. “Dad, what?”
I’m not proud of the fact that I just stare at him like a rookie who forgot how language works.
He’s serious.
I can tell.
There’s no drama in his face. No bluff. No test.
Just certainty.
Questions explode all at once.
“Are you serious?” Katia demands.
“Why would you do that?” Talia asks over her.
“Coach—” I start.
He lifts a hand.
Instantly, we all quiet down.
