Away from the bright lights and curated scenes, the Harrison family is facing the kind of grief that doesn’t fade when the cameras stop. Rick is no longer the unshakable businessman viewers recognize; he is a father replaying every moment, wondering what warning sign he missed, what conversation might have changed the ending. Each time he speaks publicly about fentanyl, it is less a statement and more an act of survival, trying to wrest meaning from something senseless while knowing it will never bring Adam back.

For Corey and the rest of the family, memories arrive in ambushes: a nickname echoing down an empty hallway, a joke Adam would have made, a chair that no one moves because it was his. Their private devastation now lives in the public eye, transformed into a plea that feels both unwanted and necessary. In telling Adam’s story, they are trying to save strangers they’ll never meet, even as they learn to live with the quiet he left behind.