By the end of the morning, Tyler's legs trembled with exhaustion.
He sat on the edge of the ring, breathing hard.
Martin handed him a bottle of water.
"Tomorrow, we do it again."
Tyler looked up.
"Can we at least add some punching?"
"When your feet can carry you where you need to go."
Tyler groaned.
Martin almost smiled.
"You wanted to become a better fighter. You didn't ask to be entertained."
Tyler drank his water.
Tyler noticed.
"Thanks," he said.
Tyler nodded.
"No problem."
Chapter 12: A Debt That Could Never Be Repaid
The next afternoon, Martin received a phone call while cleaning the storage room.
He looked at the screen for several seconds before answering.
"Hello, Evelyn."
"Martin, I hope I'm not interrupting."
"No. I'm at work. What's wrong?"
"Nothing serious. I just wanted to ask whether you were still coming on Sunday."
Martin closed his eyes briefly.
"I'll be there."
"You said that last month."
"I know."
"And the month before."
Martin looked toward the small window above the storage shelves.
"I know, Evelyn."
"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I just think you should visit while you still can."
The words struck him harder than she intended.
"I'll come on Sunday," he repeated.
After ending the call, Martin remained motionless.
Evelyn Carter was Daniel's widow.
She had been twenty-four when Daniel died. They had been married for less than two years, and she had spent the rest of her life carrying a grief that was different from Martin's but no less real.
In the early years, Martin had visited her frequently. They shared photographs, remembered Daniel's jokes, and tried to maintain the traditions he had left behind.
Martin found it difficult to talk about his brother without feeling that he was reopening an injury that had never properly healed. Evelyn, meanwhile, had learned to build a life around the absence.
Eventually, they began avoiding conversations about Daniel altogether.
Martin told himself that distance was kinder.
He had never asked whether Evelyn agreed.
That evening, Tyler found him sitting alone in the staff room.
Tyler recognized Martin immediately.
The other man had to be Daniel.
"You okay?" Tyler asked.
Martin put the photograph away.
"I'm fine."
Tyler hesitated.
"That's what people say when they don't want to talk."
Martin looked at him.
"You've become observant."
"I'm trying."
"Sit down."
Tyler sat.
Martin folded his hands.
"Have you ever lost someone and convinced yourself that staying away from the people who remember them was a kindness?"
Tyler thought about the question.
"No."
"Neither had I, until I did."
Martin explained the phone call.
"She has every reason to be angry with me," he concluded.
"Then why don't you go see her?"
Martin gave a small, tired smile.
"Because knowing what you should do and being ready to do it are different things."
Tyler looked down at his hands.
"You should go," Tyler said.
Martin raised an eyebrow.
"Is that an instruction?"
"No. It's advice from someone who knows what it feels like to avoid people because you're afraid of what they'll see."
Martin studied him.
Tyler continued.
"I can't promise she'll forgive you. But if you don't go, you'll never know what she might say."
"Perhaps you're right."
On Sunday morning, Martin arrived at Evelyn's house carrying a small bouquet of white flowers.
When Evelyn opened it, she looked older than he remembered. Her hair had become almost entirely silver, and fine lines had appeared around her eyes.
"Come in, Martin."
On the mantelpiece stood a framed photograph of Daniel, smiling broadly in a shirt he had worn during their honeymoon. Beside it was a smaller photograph of Martin and Daniel as children, standing barefoot beside a river.
Martin looked at the pictures.
"You kept everything."
"Not everything," Evelyn replied. "But the things that mattered."
At first, they spoke about ordinary things. Evelyn's garden. A neighbor who had recently moved away. The rising cost of groceries.
Then Evelyn set down her cup.
"Why did you stop coming?"
Martin stared at the table.
"I didn't know how to talk about him."
"Neither did I."
"I thought you needed space."
"I needed my brother-in-law."
Martin looked up.
Evelyn's eyes were wet, but her voice remained steady.
"You were the only person who understood what it was like to lose Daniel before he had the chance to become the man he was supposed to be. I thought we could help each other remember him."
Martin swallowed.
"I thought I would make things harder for you."
"You made them lonelier."
Martin lowered his head.
"I'm sorry."
Evelyn reached across the table and placed her hand over his.
"I know."
Evelyn listened.
"Daniel would have hated what you did to yourself."
Martin gave a quiet laugh.
"He probably would have."
"He loved you too much to want you to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself."
Martin looked toward the photograph.
"I know that now."
Before Martin left, Evelyn placed a small envelope in his hand.