The freight train below groaned. Lani balanced, arms out, her shadow long in the sodium lights.

Tonight, Lani wasn’t empty. She was full — of rage, of grief, of the grind. She stood on the rails of the old overpass, the same one where she learned to skate as a kid, the same one where her dad taught her: Crush your own steps before the world crushes you.

Fill Up My Mom Subtitle: Lani Rails, Crushing My Steps

“I’m full enough. Now watch me crush my own steps.”

Behind her, the phone buzzed one last time: Message from Mom: “Happy 20th, sweetie. I left a casserole on your porch.”

“FillUpMyMom,” Lani muttered, reading her own childhood nickname for her mother’s habit. Every emotional tank empty? Mom would fill it. Whether you wanted her to or not.