I straightened up. I didn't wipe my face yet. Some instinct said: *let her see what you look like after four sets.*
"Sedona." Dante arrived first, fell into step beside me without making it a big deal as he showed up, as always, being present. Just there. "You played well."
"I played a tie."
"Against a ranked player, two months post-treatment, with zero competitive practice in eleven years." He glanced at me sideways. "I'll take the tie."
Maria reached us. She extended her hand, and I shook it—firm, brief, professional.
"You know," she said, "when Dante first told me about you, I thought I remembered the name. I went back through junior circuit records. Regional champion at fifteen, finalist at sixteen, circuit records for three seasons before you disappeared." She had a directness th
