The fire still burns bright inside Corey Pereira.

He officially moved a step closer to his longtime dream of earning a PGA Tour card after finishing second in the season-long points race of PGA Tour Americas and locking up status on the Korn Ferry Tour next season.

This season, he moved a step closer to his longtime dream of earning a PGA Tour card, finishing second in the PGA Tour Americas points race to secure Korn Ferry Tour status for next year. It was the culmination of a breakthrough season that included six top-five finishes, a playoff loss and one emphatic victory.

On June 7, beneath the vast Mexican sky at La Hacienda Golf Club in Mexico City, Pereira stood on the 18th green after winning the Mexico Championship. As children gathered for autographs and applause filled the air, he had every reason to celebrate. But before accepting the congratulations or raising a trophy, he did something that mattered far more. He looked toward the sky and raised his arms.

Somewhere beyond the clouds, he hoped, was Leah Bertuccelli, his wife, best friend, and the woman who had changed his life forever. She had died of cancer a year earlier, at just 28.

“I wish she was here to celebrate,” he said afterward. “She was my best friend.”

For a moment, the victory belonged to both of them.

Pereira's dream was interrupted

Growing up near Sacramento’s Cameron Park Country Club, Pereira discovered golf through his parents. He developed the skills and determination that would eventually carry him into the professional ranks. In 2013, he won the NCGA Junior Amateur at Spyglass Hill, then captured the Pacific Coast Amateur and California State Fair titles the following summer. Pereira attended the University of Washington, where golf remained at the center of his world. But during his senior year, something happened that would become more important than any tournament. He met Leah.

A track athlete two years younger than Pereira, Leah quickly became the center of his life. What began at college grew into a relationship that survived distance, uncertainty, and the demands of a professional golf career. A year after turning professional in 2017, he won the ATB Financial Classic and earned a place on the Korn Ferry Tour. His dream of reaching the PGA Tour was beginning to take shape, and Leah was there every step of the way.

As his career progressed, the couple built a life together, never imagining how dramatically it would change. In October 2022, Leah received a devastating diagnosis: rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare soft-tissue cancer. Suddenly, golf, once the organizing force of his life, began to take a back seat to hospital visits, treatments, and the hope that each new scan might bring better news.

Pereira stepped away from competition repeatedly to care for her. In early 2023, while Leah underwent 12 rounds of chemotherapy and 30 rounds of radiation, he found a way to keep practicing near the Stanford Cancer Institute, thanks to Stanford men's golf coach Conrad Ray. His days developed a painful rhythm. A few hours on the practice range. The rest of the day spent at the hospital beside the woman he loved.

Four times, Leah's cancer went into remission. Four times, they dared to believe the worst might be over. And four times, it returned. They pursued clinical trials and held on to every possibility, even as the future grew increasingly uncertain.

Whenever Leah's health improved, Pereira returned to competition with renewed energy. In 2023, he even qualified for the U.S. Open. But another troubling scan could bring his golfing ambitions to a halt. By October 2024, when the cancer returned again, his decision was clear: Leah came first. His greatest responsibility was no longer measured by a scorecard.

They searched for a miracle while understanding, somewhere deep inside, how uncertain the future had become. Pereira acknowledged the terrible reality of their situation. “To be honest, three to four years was a success,” he said of the timeframe during which she battle the disease.

There was no reliable schedule for hope or heartbreak. Pereira later reflected that although he has been a professional for nine years, it felt as though he had only truly played for about half of them. The missing years had not been empty. They had been filled with love, sacrifice, and the exhausting work of helping the person he loved survive. He could lose competitive momentum. He could miss tournaments. He could not replace the time he had with Leah.

The sunflower

After Leah died, Pereira faced a different kind of struggle. Grief followed him everywhere, and even getting out of bed could feel overwhelming. The memories of Leah's illness and the painful moments they had endured threatened to pull him into a spiral.

He needed something that could help him move forward. For Pereira, that something was golf. It was not that the game made the loss disappear. Nothing could do that. Instead, it gave him a reason to leave the house, to get out from under the weight of his thoughts, and to find structure in days that otherwise felt shapeless. A practice session gave him somewhere to go; a tournament gave him something to prepare for; a difficult shot demanded his attention in the present, even if only for a few seconds. Golf became an escape, but also a way back into the world.

About a month after Leah's death, he was sorting through her belongings when he found a ribbon decorated with sunflowers in the spare bedroom. Sunflowers had become a symbol of hope for people affected by sarcoma, the disease that had taken her life. Pereira tied the ribbon to his golf bag. It was a small, personal gesture, but its meaning was profound. Wherever his career took him, a piece of Leah would travel with him.

Its fabric grew worn, and its colors faded, but he knew what it represented: a reminder of the woman who had loved him, the life they had shared, and the hope they had carried through the darkest days. He could not bring Leah back. But he could bring a piece of her with him.

How Corey Pereira learned to play again

Returning to professional golf required rebuilding more than his swing. Pereira had to rediscover his confidence, competitive instincts and ability to imagine a future beyond grief.

He began competing wherever opportunities arose, including on the Asher Tour, a mini-tour formerly known as the Golden State Tour. He needed the pressure of competition to sharpen his game. A few months after Leah's death, he Monday-qualified for the PGA Tour's 2025 Procore Championship in Napa and made the cut. He later became medalist at the first stage of qualifying school, earning status on PGA Tour Americas.

Traveling through Peru, Brazil, Argentina, and Mexico, he began showing signs of progress. He finished 10th in Brazil and 11th in Argentina, and opened a tournament in Peru with a brilliant 65.

“I'm not out here trying to reinvent the wheel,” he said. “I just need to tighten things up and add a little polish.”

It was a practical approach, but it reflected something deeper. Pereira was learning to move forward without pretending that the past had not happened. He did not have to become someone new. He had to discover how to be himself again.

Then came Mexico City.

At La Hacienda Golf Club, Pereira delivered the performance he had been working toward for months. His confidence grew with each round, and his game held up under pressure. Riley Lewis, who played his final 29 holes without making a bogey, pushed him hard. But Pereira finished at 22 under par to win by two strokes. Tournament organizers presented him with the winner's check and an oversized bottle of tequila. That evening, Pereira celebrated alone at a restaurant. There was no crowded table of friends or wife beside him to share the excitement. Instead, he reflected on the physical exhaustion, the mental strain, and the emotional burden of rebuilding a life that had been shattered.

“I gave myself a little pat on my back thinking just how difficult some of those days had been,” he said.

He usually avoided alcohol but made an exception for a celebratory drink. Unable to take the enormous tequila bottle home, he left the rest behind.

“I think housekeeping had a big score that night,” he joked.

It was a brief moment of humor after a year filled with reasons to cry. The victory brought confidence and renewed purpose, but it could not undo his loss.

“It feels great to have some success and something to work towards,” he said, “but it doesn't make what happened any easier.”

The trophy celebrated his return. It could not heal his heart.

How Pereira carries the love forward

At 31, Pereira still has ambitions to fulfill. He achieved his immediate goal by advancing from PGA Tour Americas to the Korn Ferry Tour next season, bringing him another step closer to earning a PGA Tour card. He remembers struggling during his previous Korn Ferry Tour opportunity and hopes to make the most of another chance.

“I didn't have my best year last time on the Korn Ferry Tour,” he said, “and I want revenge.”

There is determination in those words, but also perspective. For years, circumstances beyond his control interrupted his career. Now, he finally has the opportunity to discover what he can accomplish with continuity and peace of mind.

The sunflower ribbon remains tied to his golf bag. Its colors may continue to fade, but its meaning never will. On that June evening in Mexico City, Pereira won a championship and took another step toward the career he has spent his life pursuing. He allowed himself to feel proud of how far he had come.

But not before he looked up at the sky.