Although Tony never liked sports, he didn’t mind pretending he did. It was a secret he was adamant his father would never find out.

One time he had taken a snapshot of his father – risen from the shitty creaky chair in the stadium, his hand balled up in a fist in the air, his mouth wide open in a yell of support. His orange jersey blending in with the attire of the people in the background of the picture.

He smiled sadly as he put the picture in its simplistic frame, among the cards on the nightstand. The life support machine beeped tragically. He kissed his father’s cheek.

His father would never learn his secret, but in that moment, Tony wished he could tell him.