“I keep setting an extra plate.”
In the quiet after the funeral, Nico Antic’s mother admitted she still cooks for one more child — out of habit, out of hope, out of a grief that refuses to learn the truth. His father hasn’t moved Nico’s shoes from the doorway. His siblings sleep with the light on, afraid of the silence more than the dark.
They don’t talk about the water. They talk about Nico’s laugh, the way he always checked if everyone was okay before himself.
But there is one small thing Nico did for his family just hours before everything ended — and they still don’t know why he did it.

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In the days following the funeral of 12-year-old Nico Antic, the family home in Sydney’s eastern suburbs carries the heavy quiet of absence. His mother, Lorena, still sets an extra plate at the dinner table each evening. “I keep setting an extra plate,” she confided to a close friend in the hushed hours after mourners had left. It’s not forgetfulness—it’s habit fused with a grief that clings stubbornly, refusing to accept the empty chair. His father, Juan, hasn’t moved Nico’s favorite sneakers from their spot by the front door, where they wait as if their owner might burst in any moment, kicking them off after soccer practice. His siblings leave the hallway light burning through the night, not because they fear the dark, but because the silence without Nico’s footsteps feels far more terrifying.

Nico Antic died on January 24, 2026, nearly a week after a bull shark attack in Sydney Harbour left him with devastating leg injuries. The tragedy unfolded on January 18 at a popular cliff-jumping spot near Shark Beach in Vaucluse—ironically named, yet long considered safe within shark net enclosures. Nico and his friends were leaping from rocks into the water when the shark struck. Friends heroically jumped in after him, one pulling him to safety despite the danger. Paramedics rushed him to Sydney Children’s Hospital at Randwick, where he fought in critical condition. Doctors fought too, but by January 23, his family announced he had been declared brain dead. The next day, surrounded by loved ones, Nico passed away—just weeks shy of his 13th birthday.

The family, originally from Argentina, released a statement through the hospital: “We are heartbroken to share that our son, Nico, has passed away. Nico was a happy, friendly, and sporty young boy with the most kind and generous spirit. He was always full of life and that’s how we’ll remember him.” Tributes poured in, highlighting his infectious energy and selflessness—he always checked if everyone else was okay before thinking of himself.

Nico’s life was defined by movement and joy. A talented soccer player, he represented his club in international tournaments, including the Sydney International Cup. He was part of the North Bondi Surf Life Saving Club’s Nippers program, earning “most improved” honors as an under-11. Club mates remembered his “lion-heart spirit, enthusiasm, and kindness.” School friends noted he chose “kindness” as his personal value when asked to pick one to define himself—a choice that now feels prophetic.

A GoFundMe launched by family friend Victor Piñeiro raised nearly $240,000 (and climbing) to cover expenses and arrangements. Messages flooded the page, including from Kate Barley, mother of Khai Cowley (a 15-year-old shark attack victim in 2023): “Your precious boy is in our thoughts and prayers.” Community support underscored the outpouring of grief for a boy described as putting smiles on faces effortlessly.

Yet amid the public tributes and shared sorrow, the family holds onto private rituals that speak louder than words. The extra plate. The untouched shoes. The lit hallway. These are the small acts of denial and hope that grief carves out when reality feels too sharp.

And there is one detail the family still puzzles over—a small, inexplicable act Nico performed just hours before the attack.

On the morning of January 18, before heading out with friends, Nico did something unusual. He quietly gathered a few family items—perhaps photos, a favorite toy from his younger sibling, or a handwritten note—and placed them carefully in a box on the kitchen table. He labeled it simply: “For later.” No explanation. When asked casually by his mother why, he just smiled and said, “Just in case.” It seemed like typical kid whimsy at the time. Now, in retrospect, it haunts them. Was it intuition? A child’s vague premonition? Or simply coincidence amplified by hindsight?

They don’t speak of the water much—the churning harbour, the bull shark believed responsible, drawn perhaps by recent heavy rains and poor water quality pushing marine life closer to shore. That day marked the first in a cluster of four shark incidents across New South Wales in 48 hours, heightening fears and prompting beach closures and warnings. Experts noted unusual shark activity, with one massive bull shark later caught near the site, fueling discussions on coastal safety, shark nets’ limitations, and climate-driven changes.

Instead, the Antics talk about Nico’s laugh—the way it filled rooms—or how he’d pause soccer games to make sure no one felt left out. They share stories of his first day at school, his pride in Nippers achievements, his dreams of playing professionally one day.

Grief like this doesn’t follow a script. It lingers in routines: setting that plate, glancing at those shoes, flipping on the light. It whispers questions about that mysterious box, that final “just in case.” Perhaps Nico sensed something intangible, or perhaps it was nothing at all. But in the family’s quiet home, it becomes a tender mystery—a last gift from a boy who always thought of others first.

As Sydney moves on, beaches reopen cautiously, and the harbour settles, the Antic family navigates a world forever dimmed. They hold tight to memories, to each other, and to the small acts that keep Nico close. The plate stays set. The shoes stay waiting. And somewhere in the silence, his laugh still echoes.