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. 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.”

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