His backpack was heavy and his feet were slow. He stayed to his path, pausing every now and then only to pick out a new can or wad of paper to kick as he went along his way. His heart felt as heavy as his backpack as he opened the door to his house and went inside. His mother was in the kitchen, taking brownies out of the oven. She smiled as she turned around but stopped when she saw his face.
Nothing is okay, mom.
Nothing will ever be okay again. He stood in the middle of the kitchen as his mother came over to the kitchen table. Sounds like you had a rough day, Tyler. That's just the thing, Mom. We can't help.