#wsl

"Dr Y/L/N? They are ready for you in Consultation Room Three”  your receptionist, Meritxell, murmured, handing you a digital tablet. "It’s Irene and her wife, Lucía. They’ve brought a friend with them."

You smoothed down the front of your crisp white doctor’s coat over your tailored trousers, offering a warm smile. "Perfect. Thank you, Txell."

You knew Irene and Lucía incredibly well. Years ago, when you were just a brilliant, sleep-deprived obstetrics resident at the public hospital, you had been part of the medical team that managed the pregnancy and delivery of their firstborn, Mateo. You had been the young doctor who comforted Lucía during the long hours of labor, and a deep bond of mutual respect had formed back then. Now that they wanted to try for another baby, they had sought out your private clinic, knowing you were the absolute best in the field for advanced reproductive procedures.

When you pushed the door open, Irene and Lucía stood up instantly, their faces lighting up. "Y/N! Look at you,  the chief of births  now!" Irene laughed, stepping forward to give you a warm, respectful hug.

"It’s wonderful to see you both”  you smiled warmly, shaking Lucía’s hand before your eyes were instantly caught by the third person sitting in the corner armchair—Alexia Putellas.

The Barcelona captain was dressed casually in a black designer jumper and trousers, her hair pulled back into a loose bun. The moment you stepped into the room, Alexia’s head lifted, her green eyes locking onto yours.

MY GOD, Alexia thought, her brain experiencing a sudden, clean short-circuit.

She had known Irene was taking her to a top specialist, but she had expected a stern, grey-haired medical director. Instead, you were exceptionally striking, carrying yourself with a perfect balance of brilliant intellect, elite professional status, and an effortless, warm charisma. Alexia felt her chest tighten with an immediate, undeniable attraction.

"Good afternoon”  you said, extending your hand to the corner. "And you must be the legendary moral support?"

Alexia stood up, her hand wrapping around yours. Her grip was firm, an athlete’s hand, but her skin was incredibly warm. For a captain known for her unwavering media presence, she found herself suddenly, uncharacteristically shy. "Alexia. Hola. Yes... just here to hold their bags and make sure Irene doesn't faint during the medical talk."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh that crinkled the corners of your eyes. "Well, I promise no one will faint today. Sit down, please."

For the next forty-five minutes, you guided Irene and Lucía through the advanced options for reciprocal IVF and artificial insemination. You explained complex genetic screening and hormonal cycles with such absolute simplicity, humor, and kindness that the tension completely melted out of the room. You were brilliant, deeply empathetic, and clearly adored your vocation.

"I love children”  you explained with a gentle chuckle when Lucía asked about your success rates. "I spend my entire life delivering them. But as much as I adore them... I always tell my patients that I am far better at catching them than carrying them. I wouldn't be capable of being pregnant myself; my schedule is a disaster, and my body simply isn't built for that type of patience."

Alexia listened to you speak, her chin resting in her palm, her gaze entirely tracking the expressive movement of your hands. She was completely floored by how intelligent and genuinely sweet you were. Despite her usual introverted nature, a quiet, determined spark ignited inside her.

As the consultation ended and Irene went to the front desk to finalize documents, Alexia lingered near the door of your office, her fingers nervously tapping against her phone. She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing a faint pink as she looked back at you.

"Dr Y/N” Alexia started, her voice dropping into a softer, slightly tentative register. "I... I know your schedule must be absolutely packed. But I was wondering if... well, if I could have your private number? In case Ire and Lu has any sudden complications with the preliminary medication and need a quick answer?"

You looked at her, seeing right through the thin football excuse, a playful, knowing smirk touching your lips. You reached for a private business card, scribbling your personal mobile number on the back. "For emergencies, of course, Alexia. Or... if you simply want to find out if the busy doctor knows how to enjoy a proper conversation outside the hospital."

Alexia’s eyes crinkled into a thoroughly smitten, charming smile as she took the card. "I think the doctor will find I am very good at keeping things interesting. Gràcies, Y/N."

The sporadic messages started that very evening. Alexia was naturally a bit timid and reserved when it came to courting, but she possessed a quiet, tender character and a surprisingly smooth way of flirting when she gathered the courage.

Alexia: Good evening, Doctora. I hope the babies were well-behaved today. I just wanted to verify that you survived your hospital shift without falling asleep in your scrubs.

Y/N: Barely, Captain. Three deliveries and an emergency c-section. I am currently staring at my ceiling trying to remember my own name. Did you train well?

Alexia: Mapi kicked me in the shin during training, so business as usual. I was thinking... if your ceiling is boring, perhaps we could look at a restaurant menu this Thursday? I know you are incredibly busy, but I promise to be very sweet and not talk about football protocols at all.

Y/N: I will always clear my surgical schedule for a woman who promises to be sweet to me, Alexia. It’s a date.

The dinner on Thursday was an absolute triumph. You were remarkably funny, easing Alexia’s natural shyness within ten minutes of sitting down. She discovered that beneath your elite medical status, you were incredibly humorous and fun-loving, while you discovered that beneath her fierce captain's exterior, Alexia was the most attentive, respectful, and gentle woman you had ever met.

Because of your demanding hospital hours and her intense training blocks, you spent your time together within whatever small windows of freedom you could manage. Irene watched Alexia in the changing rooms, constantly smiling at her phone during recovery sessions, and simply shook her head. "She’s completely in love with you, Y/N”  Irene told you over the phone one afternoon during a routine medical update. "The entire dressing room is already gossiping. They know she’s seeing someone because she keeps spacing out during tactical lectures with a silly grin."

You both developed a lovely, quiet tradition of casual gift-giving. Because you both had significant financial freedom, the gifts were never about luxury they were highly specific and thoughtful. Alexia would leave a box of premium specialty coffee capsules from a small boutique on your kitchen counter; you would slide a, therapeutic massage oil meant for athletic recovery into her kit bag with a little post-it note.

The official definition of your relationship occurred three weeks later, on your penthouse terrace.

The June sun was slowly dipping below the Barcelona skyline, painting the Mediterranean Sea in deep shades of gold and violet. You were sitting on the large outdoor sofa, Alexia tucked securely between your thighs, her back resting against your chest as you both shared a quiet moment after a long week.

"Alexia” you murmured, your fingers gently tracing the soft skin of her forearm.

"Mmm? Dime, amor” she replied, her head tilting back to look up at you, her dark eyes soft in the fading light.

" I think it’s time we make this official”  you smiled, kissing the crown of her head. "I want you to officially be my girlfriend. No more hiding from your dressing room gossip."

Alexia’s heart did a slow, beautiful flip. She turned around fully in your arms, her hands coming up to cup your jaw, her dark eyes shining with an emotion so pure it made your breath catch. "Mi novia”  she whispered, her timidness melting away as she leaned up to press her lips against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. "I've been yours since that day, Y/N."

From that day forward, your text messages turned into a source of constant, beautiful torment for the Barcelona captain. Because you were the Chief of Maternity, your days were filled with newborns. You would randomly send her photos through the day.

Y/N: A photo of a tiny, wrinkled newborn baby wearing a white woolen hat, sleeping soundly in your arms while you smile proudly at the camera in your medical scrubs

Y/N: Look at this little champion, Ale. Six pounds, perfectly healthy. He has the exact same grumpy forehead you have when you lose a rondo. And her name my goddd, Antonio, like and old man

Alexia would sit in the locker room, her chest aching with a sudden, overwhelming wave of maternal warmth as she stared at the screen.

Alexia: My forehead is not grumpy as Antonio, Doctora. But you... you look entirely beautiful holding him. Stop sending me these, Y/N. I am trying to focus on tactical video analysis and all I want to do is drive to your house and fuck you till we could make babies.

The true catalyst arrived with the birth of Lía, Irene and Lucía’s second child.

As their trusted doctor and close friend, you had personally managed the delivery at the hospital. Alexia had arrived straight from a morning training session, sitting in the private recovery room as a source of emotional support for her teammates.

When you walked into the room carrying the perfectly swaddled, two-hour-old baby girl, the atmosphere shifted. You gently transferred the tiny bundle into Irene’s arms, before turning your eyes to Alexia, who was standing quietly by the window, watching the scene with a profound, uncharacteristic silence.

"Do you want to hold her, Ale?" Lucía asked softly from the bed.

Alexia hesitated, her strong, athletic hands suddenly looking very large. "I don't want to break her. She’s tiny."

"Go on, Captain” you teased gently, guiding Alexia toward the armchair. "I’ll help you."

You carefully placed little Lía into Alexia’s arms. The moment the baby girl settled against Alexia’s chest, letting out a tiny, soft sigh, something inside the footballer completely broke open. Alexia looked down at the child, her features softening into an expression of such pure, unconditional tenderness that it made your own heart tighten with emotion. She looked so natural, her thumb carefully stroking the baby’s minuscule cheek. A million thoughts and unsaid dreams were suddenly swirling in her dark eyes.

Three days later, you were sitting in the kitchen of your penthouse, cooking a quiet dinner. Alexia was leaning against the counter, a glass of water in her hand, her eyes uncharacteristically pensive.

"Y/N”  she said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yes, baby?" you replied, turning the heat down on the stove.

"When we were in the hospital... with Lía” Alexia started, her voice dropping into a vulnerable, quiet register. "I couldn't stop thinking. My brain has been spinning for three days. Why... why don't we try it? Why don't we have a baby?"

You paused, the spatula lingering in your hand as you looked at her. A soft, incredibly tender smile touched your lips. You walked over, wrapping your arms around her waist, looking up into her serious face. "Ale... we’ve discussed this. I adore children, but you know I wouldn't be capable of being pregnant myself. My career, my mindset... I just can't see myself carrying a child but this is not that I don’t want to, just not to carry myself and your career..."

"I know” Alexia whispered, her hands coming down to rest firmly on your hips. Her dark eyes were burning with an absolute, steady certainty. "I don't want you to be pregnant. I want to do it. I want to carry our child. In the future, when the time is right... I want to be the mother who undergoes the process, Y/N. I want to have your baby inside me."

Your breath completely left you, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as the weight of her words settled into your soul. You looked at how fiercely tender she was. "Not yet, cariño” you softly murmured, kissing her jaw. "But in the future... I absolutely want you to be the mother of my children. I promise you that."

The reality of parenthood, however, decided to give Alexia a hilarious, highly uncoordinated trial run two months later.

Irene and Lucía had an urgent appointment in the city center regarding their property documents, and they had desperately needed someone to watch their two children for four hours. Alexia, brimming with confidence, had immediately volunteered.

At three in the afternoon, you decided to pay a surprise visit to Alexia’s house, having cleared your afternoon hospital appointments early. You unlocked her front door using your private key, expecting to find a peaceful, domestic scene.

Instead, you walked directly into a war zone.

The large, minimalist living room was completely covered in plastic dinosaur figures and colorful building blocks. Mateo, Irene’s energetic five-year-old son, was currently wearing a full Barcelona jersey as a cape, sprinting around the sofa while screaming a fictional football commentary at the top of his lungs.

"AND MATEO PAREDES SCORES! GOALLLL!"

Meanwhile, Alexia was sitting on the rug, looking completely overwhelmed and physically exhausted. Her hair was completely mess, there was a suspicious white smear of spit-up on the shoulder of her grey shirt, and she was frantically rocking little Lía in her arms. The two-month-old baby girl was bright red, letting out a relentless, high-pitched, and thoroughly dramatic wail. Little Lía had clearly inherited her mother's stubborn, intense character; she was incredibly crier, a proper little crybaby when she wanted to be.

"Mateo, por favor, inside voice just a little bit, cariño! Lía’s ears are hurting and mines too!" Alexia pleaded, her voice sounding thoroughly desperate as she bounced the baby. "Oh, god, please stop crying, little one... what do you want? I changed you! I gave you the bottle!"

You stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, laughing so hard your stomach completely aches.

"Need a pediatric appointment, Captain, because i´m not, sorry?" you called out cheerfully.

Alexia’s head snapped toward you, and the look of sheer, unadulterated relief on her face was so pathetic it was adorable. "Y/N! pleaseee, help me. She’s been crying for forty five minutes without a break. I think her lungs are going to explode."

You walked over smoothly, navigating through the plastic dinosaurs. "Mateo, hi, handsome”  you smiled, giving the five-year-old a high-five. "Can you do me a massive favor? Can you go into the kitchen and see if you can build a fortress for your dinosaurs on the kitchen island? The captain and I need to do a medical check on your sister."

"Yes, Doctora!" Mateo shouted, completely enamored by your calm authority, instantly sprinting into the kitchen with his toys. Mateo was an absolute crack, a total sweetheart of a boy a complete earthquake of energy, but deeply tender.

You turned back to your girlfriend, dropping to your knees on the rug. You gently, expertly slipped your hands beneath little Lía, lifting the screaming baby girl out of Alexia’s stiff, exhausted arms.

"You're holding her too tightly, Ale” you whispered with a soft chuckle. "You’re holding her like a football trophy. She can feel your panic."

You tucked Lía securely against your chest, her tiny head resting right over your collarbone. You began to pace the room with a slow, rhythmic, and incredibly practiced swaying motion, your hand gently patting her little bum in a steady, calming heartbeat tempo. You began to hum a soft, traditional Catalan lullaby, your voice low and soothing.

Within four minutes, the dramatic wails began to stutter. Within blessings of silence, Lía let out a tiny, shuddering sigh, her little fist clamping onto the lapel of your coat as her eyes flickered shut, completely defeated by your expert maternal magic. She was a deeply emotional, tearful baby, but she couldn't resist a chief of obstetrics.

Alexia sat on the floor, her jaw slightly open, watching you cradle the sleeping baby against your chest with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship. You looked so magnificent, so effortlessly capable.

"You are a goddess” Alexia whispered, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned her head against your knee. "I was ready to call the emergency services."

"She’s just a bit crier, like Lu” you smiled down at her, your free hand reaching out to gently stroke Alexia’s cheek. "You did well, Ale. You just need to relax your shoulders."

"I love you” Alexia murmured, kissing the skin of your wrist. "I really, really love you."

The massive shift arrived at the absolute end of the football season.

Barcelona had secured yet another Champions League trophy, the celebrations in the city were absolutely deafening, but behind the closed doors of your penthouse, a far heavier reality was settling in.

Alexia had been quiet for weeks. The immense, suffocating pressure of being the eternal symbol of women's football, the constant media scrutiny, and the physical toll on her body had begun to take a severe, undeniable toll on her mental health. She was exhausted—not just physically, but spiritually. She didn't want to leave the sport when her body was entirely broken; she wanted to retire while she was still whole, while she could still walk away with her dignity and her health intact.

"I think I’m done, Y/N” she whispered one rainy Tuesday evening, her head buried in your lap as you sat on the terrace sofa, the city lights twinkling below. Her voice was trembling, thick with a profound, heavy emotion. "I can't give any more to the badge without losing myself completely. I want to leave. I want peace. The pressure... it's making a massive dent in my mind, and I want to leave well, while I am still at the top."

You closed your eyes, your fingers gently stroking through her hair, a protective, fierce warmth blooming in your chest. "Then leave, my love. You have given everything to this country, to this sport. You don't owe anyone another minute of your life."

Alexia lifted her head, looking at you with a watery, vulnerable gaze. "But... our plans. The baby. If I retire indefinitely, everything changes. I have savings, of course, but a child... a child is an immense financial responsibility for forever. Someone has to pay for everything, and with me in full retirement I don’t like not to contribute money here"

You let out a loud, bright, and thoroughly confident laugh, leaning down to cup her face in your hands.

"Alexia Putellas, look at me” you commanded, your eyes burning with a brilliant, wealthy authority. "I am the Chief of Obstetrics at the largest hospital in the city, and I own a multi-million-euro private reproductive firm. I have enough financial status to fund our children without either of us ever worrying again. You have carried the weight of the world on your shoulders for years. Let me carry our family financially. You focus on resting, and I will handle the rest."

Alexia stared at you, her heart swelling. "I want to be pregnant, Y/N” she whispered, her eyes locked onto yours with a sudden, intense heat. "I want to feel our baby grow inside me while I rest from the world. I want to be a full-time mummy, the best mummy a kid could have."

That night was the most tender, emotionally charged night of your entire relationship. There was no rush, no intensity just a slow, profound melting of two souls. As you held Alexia against your chest in the dark of your bedroom, you closed your eyes and for the very first time, you could perfectly picture it: your beautiful, strong girl walking around your penthouse terrace, her belly round and full with your child. The image was so radiantly beautiful it made your chest ache with a sudden, overwhelming surge of love.

A week later, Alexia made her official retirement public. The footballing world completely hallucinated, the tributes pouring in from every corner of the globe, but the captain turned her phone off, completely content to stay hidden within the quiet, peaceful walls of your penthouse.

-

With the pressure of the sport completely gone, Alexia’s body and mind underwent a beautiful, rapid transformation. She was relaxed, sleeping eight hours a night, and her natural warmth returned in full force.

In July, you officially initiated the reproductive process at your private clinic. Because you were the director, her charts were treated with absolute, military precision. You selected the highest quality reciprocal tracking, and Alexia began the careful hormone treatments under your direct, loving supervision.

Two months later, the universe shifted forever.

You were at the hospital finishing an early morning ward round when your mobile phone began to ring. It was Alexia. You answered it quickly, stepping into a quiet doctors' staff room. "Ale? Is everything alright, cariño?"

All you heard through the line was a soft, ragged gasp, followed by a sudden, violent sob.

Your medical calm completely vanished, a cold spike of adrenaline hitting your chest. "Ale! Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Y/N... come home... please, you need to come home please”  she choked out, her voice trembling so hard she could barely articulate the words. "I... I felt so strange this morning. So nauseous and dizzy. I took one of the clearance tests from your cabinet and..."

"Alexia” your voice went entirely breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs. "What does it say?"

"It’s positive” she sobbed, a loud, overwhelmed sound of pure joy echoing through the phone. "There are two lines, Y/N. Clear as day. We're pregnant."

You didn't even notify your director. You practically sprinted down the hospital corridors, throwing your white coat onto your office chair, and drove to your house where alexia were that morning in a state of absolute, blurred delirium. When you burst through the front door and ran into the master bathroom, you found Alexia sitting on the edge of the marble bathtub, holding the plastic stick in her hands, her face completely soaked in tears.

You dropped to your knees in front of her, your own eyes instantly overflowing with massive, hot tears. Alexia threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a desperate, crashing embrace on the bathroom floor. You kissed her face, her cheeks, her wet lips, your hands coming down to rest instantly over her still-flat stomach with a fierce, trembling protection.

"We did it” you wept against her mouth, your heart bursting with a happiness so profound it felt physical. "We're having a baby, mi amor. My beautiful girl is going to be a mummy we are going tp be mummies"

They stayed locked in that bathroom embrace for an hour, crying, laughing, and kissing away the residual exhaustion of the past year. The architecture of their new world was officially initiated.

-

Once the first trimester cleared, Alexia made her pregnancy public via a beautiful, simple photograph of her holding a tiny pair of white socks against her growing belly.

The internet completely exploded, but within your private world, the real drama was the absolute, utter devotion you displayed as a partner. You were a prestigious doctor, but the moment you came home, you were nothing but Alexia’s personal servant.

"Y/N”  Alexia would call out from the bedroom at ten o'clock at night, her voice carrying a soft, thoroughly spoiled whine. "My lower back is aching again. And... and I have a sudden, desperate need for strawberries with condensed milk."

"Coming, my love!" you would call back from the kitchen.

Within five minutes, you would appear in the bedroom carrying a silver tray with the exact snack requested, before dropping to your knees on the mattress to provide a highly professional, therapeutic lower-back massage that made Alexia let out soft, satisfied purrs against the pillows.

If Alexia suffered from a sudden bout of morning sickness or felt slightly dizzy, you would ruthlessly clear your hospital agenda, transferring your public rounds to your deputy director just so you could spend the morning sitting on the bathroom floor with her, holding her hair back and rubbing her back with cool cloths.

"You are going to ruin your medical reputation because of my nausea” Alexia mumbled one morning, her head resting against your chest as you fed her small pieces of dry toast in bed.

"My reputation is indestructible” you smiled, kissing her warm forehead. "My wife’s comfort, however, is a time-sensitive priority."

The shopping excursions for the nursery were an absolute spectacle. You would wander through the exclusive boutique stores in the upper districts, your credit card sliding across the counters without a single glance at the prices, purchasing the highest-end organic cotton cribs, premium minimalist swaddles, and advanced German-engineered strollers.

The former Barcelona squad were completely enchanted by the process. The younger players—like Pina, Vicky López and Clara had always viewed Alexia as a protective older sister, now completely believed they were the official, hereditary aunties of the unborn child.

"Look what Clara bought”  Alexia laughed one afternoon, holding up a minuscule, custom-made pair of Nike football boots that could fit a doll. "She says the baby needs to practice her footwork by age one. They are completely insane."

"She’s going to be the most spoiled baby in all of Spain”  you chuckled, shaking your head as you added the boots to the already overflowing nursery closet.

-

The gender reveal was kept intentionally small and private, hosted on the beautiful lawn of your penthouse terrace. Only the closest family members and the core senior football squad were invited.

When the massive, black balloon was brought out, Alexia looked at you, her hand locked firmly within yours, her eyes glowing with a quiet, beautiful excitement.

"On three, my love” you whispered.

Together, you pressed the sharp needle into the rubber.

POP.

The afternoon air was instantly filled with a spectacular, massive cloud of bright pink confetti and tiny silk rose petals that rained down over the terrace.

A collective, deafening cheer erupted from the squad. Mapi began to pop a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne; Irene threw her arms around Lucía; and Alexia completely froze, looking at the pink paper floating around her sneakers before looking up at you, her face illuminated by a brilliant, breathtaking smile.

"A girl” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she pulled you into a passionate, spinning hug. "A little girl, Y/N."

"Another queen for the dynasty” you laughed against her lips, wiping a stray piece of pink confetti from her cheek.

-

However, the peaceful domestic bliss hit a hilarious, highly stubborn roadblock three weeks later during the official name selection process. You were sitting in the nursery, compiling the final layout for the wallpaper, when the debate initiated.

"I’ve been thinking about the name, Ale” you said casually, marking a measurement on the wall. "Since we want something unique, distinct, and strong... I think we should name her Kai."

Alexia, who was sitting in the plush nursing armchair rocking her belly, completely froze. She blinked at you through her reading glasses, her expression transitioning into one of absolute, utter disbelief.

"Kai?" Alexia repeated, her tone dropping into a flat, thoroughly unimpressed register. "Y/N, she is a human child born in Barcelona, not a high-end Japanese restaurant franchise or a dog. We are absolutely not naming our daughter Kai."

"It’s modern, Alexia! It means ocean in Hawaiian, and it’s beautifully minimalist” you defended, turning around with your hands on your hips.

"No” Alexia said firmly, her inner stubborn captain emerging in full force. She crossed her arms over her round belly, her lower lip pushing out into a massive, thoroughly dramatic berrinche—a proper childish pout that she always used when she wanted to win an argument with you. "We are giving her a proper, normal, and beautiful traditional name. Something elegant. Like Valentina. Or... or Alejandra or more traditional I thought."

You let out a loud, groaning sigh, walking over to lean against the arm of her chair. "Alejandra Putellas wtf? That is far too long. She will spend half her primary school years just learning how to spell her own name on the exams. And Valentina sounds like a character from a tragic nineteenth-century tv show. I am a modern doctor, I cannot have a normal baby name child. I don't like those names at all, Ale."

"I don't care!" Alexia pouted harder, turning her face away from you, her chest heaving with a highly exaggerated pregnancy huff. "I am the one carrying her for nine months! I suffer the nausea! I suffer the back pain! I deserve to choose a beautiful, normal name, and you want to name her after a dog! My sweet little girl deserves a sweet name!"

You stared at her dramatic, beautiful face, completely captivated by how incredibly adorable she was when she threw these little tantrums. You let out a soft chuckle, kneeling down in front of her chair, your hands coming up to rest gently over the warm, solid curve of her belly, right where your daughter was growing.

"Okay, my dramatic queen” you whispered softly, your eyes melting as you looked up into her face. "Let’s find a name. A name that is elegant, traditional, but carrying that beautiful, soft simplicity we both love."

Alexia sniffed, her dark eyes looking down at you through her lashes, her pout softening slightly. "What do you suggest, Doctora?"

You paused, your thumbs gently rubbing circles against her fabric. "What about... Olivia? Olivia Putellas Y/L/N. It means peace. It’s elegant, it’s classic, but it has that lovely, soft international ring to it."

Alexia stayed silent for a long moment. She repeated the name in her head, letting the syllables roll over her tongue. Olivia. She looked down at her belly, then back into your loving, brilliant face. The dramatic pout completely vanished, replaced by a soft, thoroughly defeated, and incredibly smitten smile. She reached down, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your face up to press a soft, apologetic kiss against your lips.

"Olivia”  she murmured against your mouth, her voice thick with a sudden, beautiful emotion. "Olivia is... it’s perfect, Y/N. You win. But only because you are an exceptional doctor and my good girl."

-

The final stretch of the pregnancy passed in a blur of warm Mediterranean sunshine and absolute, quiet anticipation. Because you were the Chief of Obstetrics, the entire labor and delivery protocol at the Hospital Clínic had been organized with the precision of a military operation. You were not going to let anyone else deliver your daughter; you were going to be the one to catch her.

On a cool, crisp morning in early April, the contractions officially initiated.

Unlike her panic during the babysitting chaos with Lía, Alexia was a pillar of quiet, athletic focus during the initial stages of labor. She walked the corridors of the private VIP wing, her hand locked firmly within yours, her face tight but her mind entirely centered on the task ahead.

"You're doing perfectly, mi amor” you whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she leaned against your shoulder during a heavy contraction. "The progression is textbook. Our little girl is coming exactly on schedule."

"I'm ready” Alexia panted, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a profound, unwavering trust. "I want to see her, Y/N."

By three in the afternoon, the environment shifted into the delivery room. You had changed into your sterile surgical scrubs, your professional medical mask hanging loosely around your neck for a moment as you leaned down to kiss Alexia’s trembling lips. The hospital room was silent, filled with a soft, warm amber lighting that you had personally requested to keep the atmosphere calm.

"Alright, Captain” you smiled, your voice dropping into that pristine, commanding medical authority that Alexia loved so much. "It’s time for the final match. I need you to push for me, exactly when I tell you."

Alexia gripped the handles of the delivery bed, her thigh muscles tensing, her face turning crimson as she channeled every ounce of her legendary athletic discipline into the rhythm of the delivery. You stood at the foot of the bed, your hands gloved and steady, your heart hammering with a spectacular mix of professional focus and overwhelming personal emotion.

"Perfect, Ale! Just like that, my love! I can see her hair... she has your dark hair”  you cried out, your voice cracking completely as the reality of the moment hit your soul. "One more big push, my brave girl. Bring our daughter home."

With a loud, shattered cry of absolute effort, Alexia pushed one final time.

Smoothly, expertly, your hands caught the wet, warm, and perfectly formed body of your daughter. The silent delivery room was instantly filled with a loud, bright, and thoroughly healthy cry.

Olivia Putellas Y/L/N.

You lifted her instantly, placing the screaming, slippery baby girl directly onto Alexia’s bare, heaving chest. You quickly snipped the umbilical cord, your hands shaking with happy tears as you dropped to your knees beside the pillows, throwing your arms around Alexia’s shoulders.

Alexia completely broke down, her strong arms wrapping around the tiny, crying bundle on her chest, her face burying into your neck as she sobbed with a raw, overwhelming maternal joy. She was a mother. The great captain had brought a new life into the world.

"Look at her, Ale”  you wept, kissing her sweaty temple over and over again. "Look at our beautiful Olivia."

Olivia’s tiny, wrinkled face was pressed against Alexia’s warm skin, her little cries slowly turning into soft, shuddering sighs as she recognized the familiar, steady heartbeat she had listened to for nine months. Alexia’s thumb carefully stroked the baby’s minuscule, velvet cheek, her eyes glowing with a devotion so pure it bypassed anything she had ever felt on a football pitch.

The return to the house with your newborn daughter initiated a period of absolute, beautiful domestic isolation. You had taken a full month of absolute medical leave from both the public hospital and your private clinic, completely content to let the outside world fade into a distant memory.

The first days of Alexia being a mother were a spectacle of pure, unadulterated fluff.

The fierce, commanding athlete was completely enslaved by the needs of a seven-pound baby girl. Alexia refused to leave Olivia’s side for more than ten minutes at a time. She would sit in the plush nursing armchair in the center of the nursery for hours, wearing nothing but a soft cotton shirt, holding Olivia skin-to-skin against her chest while staring down at her with a dazed, thoroughly smitten expression.

"You need to sleep, baby” you whispered softly, walking into the nursery at two in the morning, carrying a fresh bottle of warm water for her hydration.

The penthouse was silent, the moon casting a silver glow across the hardwood floor. Alexia looked up at you through her reading glasses, her face pale with exhaustion but her eyes burning with an absolute, fierce protective warmth.

"I can't stop looking at her, Y/N” Alexia whispered, her voice dropping into an incredibly tender, raspy register. "Every time she moves her tiny fingers, my heart completely stops. Look at her nose... it’s exactly like yours. She’s perfect."

You smiled, dropping to your knees beside the chair, your hand coming down to rest over Alexia’s thigh. You reached up, gently adjusting Olivia’s little swaddle blanket. "She has your stubborn chin, Ale. I already checked the medical assessment. She’s going to throw massive tantrums just like her mummy when she doesn't get her way."

Alexia let out a soft, sleepy chuckle, her head leaning back against the cushions as her hand came down to lock her fingers within yours. "I don't throw tantrums, my love. I simply have strong opinions."

"Of course, whatever you say” you teased, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss against her lips. "Come to bed. I’ll carry Olivia for the next shift. Let your body rest."

Alexia hesitated, looking down at the sleeping baby girl, before slowly, carefully transferring the tiny bundle into your arms. The moment Olivia settled against your chest, letting out a tiny, soft sigh, Alexia’s features softened into an expression of such pure, unconditional love it made your own throat tighten.

She stood up, her strong, athletic frame slightly stiff from the recovery, and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, burying her face into the crook of your neck as you both walked toward the master bedroom.

The dressing rooms, the stadiums, the trophies, and the massive corporate pressures of the past were completely gone. Here, within the quiet, golden walls of your Sarrià sanctuary, the eternal captain had officially built her permanent dynasty—grounded entirely within the brilliant, loving, and unyielding embrace of the woman who held her world.

But

The quiet peace of the first two weeks was hilariously disrupted on a sunny Thursday afternoon when the doorbell of the penthouse began to ring with a relentless, chaotic rhythm.

"I'll get it” you whispered, carefully sliding out from beneath the duvet, leaving Alexia sleeping soundly with Olivia tucked securely into the co-sleeper bassinet beside the bed.

When you pushed the front door open, you were immediately confronted by a wall of high-energy athletes. Irene, Mapi, , Patri, and the younger trio of Salma, Vicky, and Clara were standing in the corridor, practically vibrating with excitement. They were carrying an absurd amount of gifts including a massive pink teddy bear that was literally the size of a grown adult.

"We are here to see the princess!" Mapi announced in a loud whisper, trying and failing to regulate her natural volume as she pushed past you into the hallway. "Where is the mini-captain? Show us the creature!"

"Shh! Lower your volume, Leon!" Irene hissed from behind, carrying Mateo on her shoulders. "Alexia will literally execute you if you wake the baby."

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you closed the door. "They are both in the master bedroom. Come in, but please, keep the volume at a low defensive block."

The squad filed into the spacious living room, dropping their packages onto the sofa. Within minutes, the bedroom door opened slowly, and Alexia walked out, wearing a soft grey tracksuit, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. Despite her tiredness, the moment she saw her friends, a brilliant, warm smile broke across her face.

"Look at the mummy!" Salma gasped, running forward to give Alexia a careful, incredibly sweet hug. "You look so soft, Ale! Where is Oli? Can we see her?"

"She’s waking up now” Alexia smiled, her voice carrying that deep, maternal warmth. She looked back at you, a silent message of pure happiness passing between your eyes. "Y/N, can you bring her out?"

You walked into the dark bedroom, carefully lifting the waking two-week-old baby girl from her bassinet. Olivia let out a tiny, dramatic squeak, her little fists waving in the air as you carried her out into the bright light of the living room.

The moment the squad saw the baby, a collective, high-pitched gasp echoed through the room. The fierce, hardened athletes of Europe completely melted into puddles of absolute mush.

"Oh, god, she’s so tiny, the tiniest” Patri whispered, her eyes wide as she leaned over your shoulder to look at the baby's face. "She has Ale’s exact grumpy eyebrows. It’s a clone."

"She does not have grumpy eyebrows, Patri!" Alexia defended, though she was grinning from ear to ear as she sat on the sofa, opening her arms so you could place Olivia into her lap.

The younger players completely surrounded the couch, dropping to their knees on the rug. Salma was gently holding Olivia’s tiny foot, her face displaying an expression of pure reverence. "I am officially Auntie Salma” she announced proudly. "I already bought her a miniature track suit for when she starts walking. She’s going to be the fastest baby in Barcelona."

"No way” Clara interrupted, gently touching the baby's tiny fist. "She’s going to be a technical midfielder like her mummy. I’m teaching her how to scan the room by age two."

Mateo squeezed through the players, looking down at the baby with a serious, analytical expression. "She’s very small, Auntie Ale” the five-year-old soon to be six noted, turning his face toward Alexia. "Can she play football yet?"

"Not yet, Mateo” Alexia laughed softly, leaning down to kiss the boy's forehead. "But when she’s bigger, you have to protect her from the dinosaurs, okay?"

"I will!" Mateo shouted, completely serious about his new protective protocol.

You stood behind the sofa, your hands resting on Alexia’s shoulders, watching the chaotic, beautiful scene unfold. The baby was being absolutely, relentlessly spoiled already. Every single player was competing for her attention, offering ridiculous promises of future gifts, coaching sessions, and infinite indulgence. Olivia was officially the royalty of the Barcelona dressing room, completely surrounded by a network of fierce, loving women who would protect her with their lives.

Late that evening, after the chaotic aunties had finally departed and the penthouse returned to its peaceful silence, you and Alexia stood out on the panoramic terrace. The April air was mild, carrying the distant scent of the sea and the blooming jasmine from the gardens below.

Alexia was wearing a hoodie and some shorts, standing against the glass railing, her front securely cradling Olivia against her chest in a soft linen wrap. The baby was fast asleep, her tiny face buried against the warm hollow of Alexia’s throat.

You stepped into her space from behind, your arms wrapping around Alexia’s waist, your chin resting on her shoulder as you both watched the sun dip below the mountains, painting the sky in breathtaking shades of deep gold, pink, and violet.

"Are you happy, honey?" you whispered softly into her ear, your hand coming down to rest over her arm, right beside our daughter's sleeping frame.

Alexia turned her head slightly, her green eyes looking into yours with an emotion so deep, so profoundly settled, it made your breath catch. The residual lines of stress, pressure, and mental exhaustion from her senior career had completely vanished, replaced by a radiant, pristine peace.

"I have never been this happy in my entire life, Y/N” Alexia murmured, her lips brushing against yours in a sweet, slow kiss that tasted of home and forever. "I spent fifteen years running after trophies, thinking that was the ultimate victory. But... but standing here with you, looking at our daughter... this is the only thing that matters. Thank you for building this with me, babe."

"Thank you for being brave enough to choose peace, Ale” you smiled, tightening your embrace around her and the beautiful, perfect family you had caught from the stars.

The lawyers never spoke cruelly.

That might have made it easier.

They were always careful with you, sitting across polished conference tables or appearing inside neat rectangles on Alexia’s laptop. They used patient voices and precise language. They explained each requirement, exception, and unlikely possibility as if they were guiding you through a difficult tactical problem.

No one ever said your work didn’t matter.

They didn’t have to.

The first lawyer came to your apartment in Barcelona on a Tuesday afternoon in March. Alexia had arranged the consultation through her representation before she’d even formally accepted London City’s offer. The woman arrived carrying a leather folder, declined coffee, and spent nearly two hours asking about your education, employment history, income, nationality, professional qualifications, and relationship.

You answered everything.

You’d worked in museum education for almost nine years, the last five at a cultural center in Barcelona. You managed accessibility programs, coordinated school visits, developed exhibitions with local artists, and ran community workshops for children who didn’t always have the money or opportunity to experience art outside their classrooms.

You loved it.

You loved the quiet hour before the doors opened, when the building seemed to hold its breath. You loved watching children approach a painting with suspicion before finding some small detail that belonged only to them. You loved the elderly visitors who came every Thursday and treated the café like their own dining room. You loved the years of relationships you’d built with teachers, artists, families, and community groups.

It was work that had taken time to become good at.

It was work you were proud to do.

The lawyer listened, made notes, and asked if you held any additional qualifications.

You told her about your master’s degree.

She asked if you’d ever worked in university-level research.

You hadn’t.

She asked if your current employer operated in the United Kingdom.

It didn’t.

She asked whether any British organization had offered to sponsor you.

Not yet.

Her pen stopped moving.

Alexia sat beside you on the sofa, one knee pressed against yours. She’d barely spoken during the consultation. Every few minutes, her thumb moved across the inside of your wrist as though she could soothe you without interrupting.

The lawyer closed one document and opened another.

“Your occupation may fall under several classifications depending on the exact responsibilities of a prospective role,” she said. “That gives us some room to explore. The difficulty will be finding an employer licensed and willing to sponsor the position at the required level and salary.”

“But it’s possible,” Alexia said.

The woman looked at her.

There was no recognition on her face, or at least none she allowed to show. Alexia was simply another client sitting in a sunlit apartment, asking for certainty where none existed.

“Possible isn’t the same as probable.”

Alexia’s hand tightened around yours.

“What does probable look like?”

“For you?” The lawyer glanced down at the section of her notes dedicated to Alexia. “Your club will handle your immigration status. Your professional record makes your case relatively straightforward.”

“And for her?”

The woman hesitated for only a second.

“That will be considerably more difficult.”

The late-afternoon light streamed through the balcony doors and stretched across the floor. Outside, Barcelona carried on without you. A motorbike passed below. Someone laughed from another balcony. A dog barked twice before being shushed.

You looked at the mug in your hands.

The coffee had gone cold.

“What if money isn’t an issue?” Alexia asked. “For applications, legal fees, anything necessary.”

“Money can give you excellent representation. It can make the process smoother. It can allow us to investigate every legitimate route.” The lawyer folded her hands over the folder. “It cannot create an eligible route where the requirements aren’t met.”

The answer seemed to offend something fundamental in Alexia.

You felt it in the way her leg became rigid against yours.

Alexia understood the rules. She’d spent her life inside them. Ninety minutes. Eleven players. A rectangular pitch with fixed boundaries. Contracts with clauses that could be negotiated if the right people sat at the right table.

She understood obstacles too. Injury. Rehabilitation. Coaches who underestimated her. Institutions that treated women’s football as a favor rather than a profession.

She had learned that if a door didn’t open, you pushed harder.

This wasn’t a door.

It was a wall built by people who would never know either of you existed.

“So what do we do?” she asked.

“We begin contacting employers. We look carefully at the nature of the roles rather than simply their titles. We explore whether your partner’s experience qualifies as an eligible occupation. We prepare for the possibility that it may take time.”

“How much time?”

“I can’t responsibly promise that.”

Alexia looked toward you.

You gave her the smallest smile you could manage.

It was meant to reassure her.

It didn’t.

By the end of March, you had three lawyers.

One specialized in employment sponsorship. Another handled complex immigration cases for high-net-worth clients and public figures. The third had been recommended by London City’s ownership group.

They worked from offices in Barcelona and London. They spoke with your employer, reviewed your contracts, translated your qualifications, and produced lists of organizations that might be able to hire someone with your experience.

No expense was spared.

It still didn’t change the answer.

The second lawyer was the first to mention marriage.

He did it carefully after nearly an hour spent reviewing the same qualifications, job classifications, and sponsorship requirements you already knew by heart.

“There is another potential route,” he said.

Alexia leaned forward immediately.

“What route?”

The lawyer glanced between you.

“If you were married, or if you could otherwise establish eligibility as long-term partners, she may be able to apply as your dependent.”

For one suspended second, the room changed.

Alexia’s fingers tightened around yours.

You had discussed marriage before. Not seriously enough to choose a date, but enough that it existed somewhere in the future you’d built together. It belonged to a quiet morning, a family dinner, a ring Alexia would overthink for months before pretending she hadn’t.

It had never belonged to a conference room.

It had never been meant to arrive as an immigration strategy.

Alexia looked at you, and you saw the hope before either of you understood the full answer.

“So she could come?” she asked.

“She could potentially live in the United Kingdom with you.”

“And work?”

His pause was brief.

It still answered the question.

“That would depend on the specific terms attached to the immigration arrangement secured through the club. We would need the final documentation before giving you a definitive answer. However, you should prepare for the possibility of restrictions that would prevent her from continuing paid employment.”

The hope disappeared from Alexia’s face.

You stared at the legal pad in front of you.

“So I could move,” you said slowly, “but I might not be allowed to work.”

“That is a possibility.”

“In any job?”

“Potentially.”

“And volunteering?”

“That may be permitted, provided it doesn’t amount to unpaid employment that would ordinarily be compensated.”

You nodded as though the distinction made sense.

It didn’t.

Alexia turned toward you.

“We could do that.”

Her voice was soft. Careful.

You knew what she meant.

You had enough money. More than enough. Alexia could support both of you without noticing the difference in her bank account. You could live in the house she’d chosen, travel when her schedule allowed, fill your days with dinners, charity appearances, language classes, and carefully approved volunteer work.

You could be with her.

You would simply have to stop being the version of yourself you’d spent nearly a decade becoming.

“I can’t,” you said.

Alexia went still.

The lawyer looked down at his papers, offering you the illusion of privacy.

“I don’t mean I won’t marry you,” you added quickly.

“I know.”

But the hurt was already there.

You reached for her hand.

“I love you. I want to marry you one day.”

“Then why can’t we do this?”

“Because I’d have to leave my work.”

“Only until we find another route.”

“And if we don’t?”

“We will.”

You looked at her.

She stopped.

For weeks, Alexia had spoken in certainties because anything else frightened her. There would be another lawyer. Another application. Another exception. Another route.

You couldn’t build your life around another promise that neither of you controlled.

“I’d wake up every morning in your house,” you said. “You’d leave for training, and I’d have nowhere I needed to be.”

“You could do anything you wanted.”

“Except work.”

“You could study. You could volunteer.”

“I don’t want to study for the sake of filling time. I don’t want to volunteer beside people doing the same work as me while knowing I’m not legally allowed to build a career from it.”

Her expression tightened.

“I’m not asking you to give up who you are.”

“You wouldn’t have to ask.”

You lowered your voice.

“That’s what the visa would require.”

Alexia pulled her hand away and stood. She crossed to the window, staring down at the street.

The lawyer remained silent.

You hated that the conversation had an audience. You hated that something as private as marriage had become another file on his desk.

“I can support you,” Alexia said.

“I know.”

“You’d never have to worry about money.”

“I know.”

“You could have anything.”

“Not anything.”

She turned.

You could see the frustration rising in her, sharpened by helplessness.

“You’d have me.”

“I already have you.”

“Not in London.”

The words struck hard enough that you had to look away.

Alexia’s face changed immediately.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you meant it.”

She came back to the table and crouched beside your chair.

“I meant that I want you there. I don’t mean that your work doesn’t matter.”

“I know you don’t.”

You took her face in your hands.

“That’s why I can’t do it.”

Her eyes filled.

You continued before you lost the nerve.

“If I leave everything and become dependent on you in every legal and financial sense, I’m afraid I’ll start resenting the life we built there.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“I wouldn’t let you.”

“You can’t control that.”

She closed her eyes.

“I love my work, Ale. I love having something that belongs to me. I love being good at something that has nothing to do with football or your name or the opportunities your career can give us.”

“You think people would see you as my wife.”

“I think immigration would.”

The word wife sat between you.

Under any other circumstances, it might have made Alexia smile.

Now she looked devastated.

“They’d call me your dependent,” you said. “That would be my legal status. Dependent on your contract. Dependent on your income. Dependent on whether London City renewed you.”

“You wouldn’t be dependent on me.”

“On paper, I would be.”

“You know that isn’t how I see you.”

“I do.”

You brushed your thumb beneath her eye.

“But I have to live inside my own life too.”

Alexia lowered her forehead to your knee.

The lawyer quietly excused himself to make coffee, leaving the two of you alone in the conference room.

“I hate that there’s a way,” she whispered, “and we still can’t take it.”

You rested your hand against the back of her head.

“There’s a way for me to exist beside you.”

“That’s not enough.”

“No.”

She looked up.

“I want you to have your own life there.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you waiting for me to come home every day.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to marry me because the government has made it the least impossible option.”

Your throat tightened.

“Neither do I.”

Marriage had always felt like something you would choose when the time was right.

Now it had been placed before you as a transaction.

Sign here.

Prove the relationship.

Give up your work.

Receive permission to remain beside the person you loved.

Alexia stood and pulled you into her arms.

“I would marry you tomorrow,” she said against your hair.

You held her tighter.

“I’d marry you tomorrow too.”

“Just not like this.”

“Not if it means disappearing.”

She pressed her lips to your temple.

“I couldn’t bear that.”

“Neither could I.”

That was the cruelty of it.

You had enough money to survive without your salary.

You had enough money for lawyers, applications, appeals, and every legitimate legal route worth pursuing.

What you didn’t have was a way to bring your whole life with you.

The United Kingdom might allow Alexia to carry you across the border as her dependent.

It simply wouldn’t promise to let you remain yourself once you arrived.

You sent applications to museums, galleries, charities, heritage organizations, and educational foundations throughout London.

You applied for positions beneath your level of experience because the titles sounded promising. You applied for jobs you didn’t really want because they came with a small line at the bottom of the advertisement about sponsorship being considered in exceptional circumstances.

You were exceptional, Alexia told you.

The employers disagreed.

Some rejected you within hours.

Others invited you to interviews, praised your experience, and apologized when the subject of immigration arose.

One director called personally. She told you that your community access programs were exactly the kind of work their organization wanted to develop. She asked intelligent questions about sensory-friendly exhibitions and multilingual family programming. For forty minutes, you felt like yourself again.

Then she asked whether you already had the right to work in the United Kingdom.

When you said no, her expression changed.

Not because she thought less of you.

Because she already knew what came next.

Their organization had a sponsorship license, she explained, but the position hadn’t been approved for international recruitment. The salary band was fixed. They couldn’t restructure the role. They couldn’t justify the administrative burden when qualified applicants were already permitted to work in the country.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Professionally, you’d be an excellent fit.”

You thanked her.

After the call ended, you remained at the dining table with your laptop open in front of you.

Alexia was at training. The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and faint traffic from the street.

Professionally, you’d be an excellent fit.

Legally, you were an inconvenience.

The message from the lawyer sat unread beside the rejection email. It contained further information about the dependent route, documentation requirements, and the risks of committing to a status that could leave you unable to work.

You closed both windows.

Then you went to work.

That evening, you guided a group of teenagers through a new exhibition by a Catalan photographer. You helped one girl find the words to describe why a portrait of an empty kitchen made her feel lonely. You adjusted the route when another student became overwhelmed by the crowd. You stayed late to speak with their teacher about returning for a quieter session.

You were good at your job.

You knew you were good at it.

For the first time, knowing that hurt.

Alexia didn’t announce her decision immediately.

The club knew.

Her agent knew.

You knew.

The rest of the world continued to speculate.

Every training session produced another article. Every photograph of Alexia became evidence for a different theory. She was staying because she’d smiled during warmups. She was leaving because she hadn’t celebrated a goal intensely enough. She was retiring. She was moving to the United States. She was accepting an executive role at Barcelona. She was joining London City.

That last rumor was accurate, but it still felt unreal when you saw it written by strangers.

You watched people debate the decision as if they understood what it cost.

They discussed salary, ambition, legacy, playing time, and the appeal of joining an independent women’s club with plans to challenge England’s established powers.

No one mentioned your visa.

No one knew that Alexia had sat on the bathroom floor with you after the third lawyer confirmed that the dependent route would likely cost you the career you loved.

No one knew she’d asked whether she should refuse the offer.

You’d been brushing your teeth when she said it.

Her voice had been so quiet you initially thought you’d misheard her.

You turned off the tap.

“What?”

Alexia stood in the bathroom doorway wearing a faded Barcelona shirt and sleep shorts. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and there were shadows beneath her eyes from another night spent staring at the ceiling.

“I can say no.”

“To London?”

She nodded.

You set your toothbrush beside the sink.

“Alexia.”

“I haven’t signed.”

“You’ve agreed.”

“Verbally. It isn’t finished.”

“You want to go.”

“I want you with me.”

The words made your chest ache.

You dried your hands slowly, buying time to arrange your thoughts.

“We knew there was a possibility I wouldn’t be able to come.”

“We knew it would be complicated.”

“We knew it might be impossible.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You said that. The lawyers said that. I didn’t believe it.”

You almost smiled because it was such an Alexia answer.

She moved closer.

“I thought we’d find someone better. Another lawyer. A different job classification. Some exception no one had considered.”

“We did find better lawyers.”

“Then better than them.”

“There are only so many lawyers in Europe, amor.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know.”

Her eyes filled with a frustration that had followed her for weeks. It had become part of the apartment, moving with her from room to room. She carried it into bed, into breakfast, into phone calls with her agent. It lived in the tense line of her shoulders and the way she checked your email more anxiously than you did.

“I can stay,” she said again.

“You could.”

Her face shifted.

She hadn’t expected you to agree.

You stepped closer and rested your hands against her waist.

“You could stay, and we’d still have this apartment. I’d still go to work every morning. You’d still know all the roads without using your phone. Your family would still be close. We’d have dinner with Alba on Sundays, and we wouldn’t need to calculate how many days a visitor is allowed to spend in another country.”

“Then I stay.”

“But every time London City played, part of you would wonder.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You would.”

She looked away.

You touched her cheek, guiding her attention back to you.

“You’ve given everything to Barcelona.”

“I don’t feel like I’ve finished.”

“That isn’t what I mean. You’ve given this club your childhood, your knee, your best years, every version of yourself you knew how to give. Wanting to discover who you are somewhere else doesn’t mean you love it less.”

Her mouth tightened.

“You sound like my agent.”

“Your agent is very wise.”

“My agent doesn’t sleep beside me.”

“Thank God.”

She almost laughed.

It didn’t last.

“What happens to us?” she asked.

There it was.

Not the contract.

Not London.

Not whether she could adjust to England’s weather or a new league or teammates who had grown up watching her on television.

Us.

You lowered your hands from her waist.

“I don’t know.”

Her expression crumpled before she controlled it.

You hated yourself for giving her the truth, but you’d made too many promises to each other to begin lying now.

“I know what I want,” you continued. “I want to go with you. I want to complain about the rain and pretend I don’t like the house you chose. I want to find a job there and build a life with you. I’ve done everything they’ve asked, and I’ll keep trying.”

“But?”

“But loving you doesn’t give me the legal right to live in the same country as you without giving up something I can’t bear to lose.”

Alexia turned away sharply.

She lowered herself onto the closed toilet lid, elbows resting on her knees. You watched her press both hands against her face.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I hate that they can decide this.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I can sign one piece of paper and move, and you need strangers to decide whether the work you’ve spent your life building is valuable enough.”

The last words broke in her throat.

You sat on the tiled floor in front of her.

Alexia immediately reached down, pulling you closer until you were kneeling between her legs. She cradled your face with both hands.

“Your work matters.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

You swallowed.

“I did before all of this.”

Her eyes closed.

You hadn’t meant the admission as an accusation. It still wounded her.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do it.”

“I’m still sorry.”

She bent until her forehead rested against yours.

You stayed on the bathroom floor for a long time. The overhead light was too bright. Your knees began to hurt against the tile. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, Alexia whispered, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You aren’t leaving me.”

“It feels exactly like that.”

The official announcement came two days after Barcelona’s final match.

By then, most of Alexia’s belongings had already been divided into three categories.

London.

Storage.

Yours.

The categories didn’t work particularly well.

Half the clothes marked for London migrated back into the wardrobe because you weren’t ready to watch her pack them. She kept placing things in your pile that clearly belonged to her, claiming she wanted you to have them. You accused her of trying to avoid exceeding the airline’s baggage limit.

She bought a house in England rather than renting.

You learned about it through a video tour conducted by an estate agent who called you both “ladies” with relentless cheerfulness. The property was in a quiet area with enough privacy for Alexia, a garden neither of you knew how to maintain, and a spare room that she immediately referred to as your office.

You didn’t correct her.

The announcement video was filmed with the club’s owner. Alexia wore the new colors and spoke about ambition, identity, and the future of women’s football. She looked composed and certain.

You watched from your office at the cultural center.

Your coworkers had gathered around your computer, whispering excitedly as the video began. Most of them knew Alexia. They’d met her at exhibition openings or staff dinners. They knew she sent coffee to the entire building when a program you’d designed won a national award. They knew she sometimes appeared thirty minutes before closing, leaning against the reception desk until you finished work.

They knew you were trying to move.

They didn’t know you’d received another rejection that morning.

When Alexia appeared wearing the London City shirt, the room erupted.

Your closest colleague grabbed your shoulders.

“She looks incredible.”

“She does.”

“You must be so proud.”

“I am.”

“When do you leave?”

The question came from somewhere behind you.

You kept your eyes on the screen.

Alexia was talking about challenging herself.

“I’m not.”

The excitement faded so quickly that you could feel it leave the room.

Your colleague’s hands loosened on your shoulders.

“What do you mean?”

“The visa isn’t happening.”

“But with Alexia’s club…”

“They’ve tried.”

“And the lawyers?”

“They’ve tried too.”

Someone muttered a curse under their breath.

Your colleague lowered her voice.

“Couldn’t you marry her?”

The question was gentle.

That made it worse.

You stared at the screen.

“We could.”

Her confusion deepened.

“But I wouldn’t be able to keep working.”

The room became quiet.

You didn’t explain further.

You didn’t tell them that Alexia had offered to support you before you could even calculate the cost. You didn’t tell them that you could live comfortably for the rest of your life without earning another salary.

That had never been the point.

Money paid for the apartment you shared and the food on your table. Your work gave shape to your days. It gave you relationships, responsibility, confidence, and an identity that belonged entirely to you.

You didn’t know who you’d become if you surrendered it to follow Alexia.

You were afraid that one day you’d look at the woman you loved and blame her for a sacrifice she had begged you not to make.

“It’s okay,” you said.

It wasn’t.

You’d begun saying it anyway.

The farewell at Camp Nou belonged to Alexia.

You made sure of that.

You stood with her family and watched the stadium honor fourteen years of her life. You watched highlights of the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become. The screens showed goals, trophies, celebrations, and the long walk back from injury.

The supporters sang her name.

Alexia cried without hiding it.

You cried too.

For Barcelona.

For her.

For yourself.

When she thanked the club, her teammates, her family, and everyone who had carried her through the years, her eyes found you.

She didn’t name you.

She didn’t need to.

You knew the look she gave you. You’d seen it across crowded rooms, airport terminals, hospital corridors, and football pitches. It was the look that had always meant home.

For the first time, home was becoming two places.

Afterward, the celebrations continued in a private suite. Former teammates embraced her. Staff members told stories. Her mother held her face between both hands and kissed her forehead as though Alexia were still a child returning from her first training session.

You slipped out into a quiet corridor.

The stadium sounded different from there. The singing became a distant vibration through the concrete. You leaned against the wall and tried to breathe through the pressure building in your chest.

The door opened a minute later.

You didn’t have to look to know who had followed you.

Alexia stopped beside you.

“You disappeared.”

“I needed a minute.”

She studied your face.

“You said that seventeen minutes ago before disappearing from the party.”

“You’re counting?”

“I always know where you are.”

The words hurt more than she intended.

Her expression changed immediately.

“Amor.”

“I know.”

She reached for you, but you folded your arms across your chest.

Not to reject her.

To keep yourself together.

“This is your night.”

“It’s ours.”

“No. It isn’t.”

Her forehead creased.

You looked toward the closed door.

“Everything in there belongs to you. The memories. The people. The years. I don’t want my sadness to take up space tonight.”

“You’re part of those years.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t stand in a corridor pretending you aren’t.”

You looked at her.

She was still wearing the suit she’d chosen for the ceremony, though the jacket was open now. Her eyes were red from crying. A strand of hair had fallen loose near her face.

“You’re leaving in twelve days.”

Her lips parted.

You’d both known the date for weeks.

Saying it in the stadium made it real.

“I know.”

“I thought I was handling it.”

“You don’t have to handle it.”

“I do. Everyone keeps looking at me like I’m the tragic partner being abandoned for football.”

“I’m not abandoning you.”

“I know that.”

The answer came too quickly and too loudly. You lowered your voice.

“I know you’re not. That’s what makes this so hard. I can’t even be angry with you.”

“You can.”

“For what? Taking an opportunity you earned? Wanting something after giving your entire life to one club? Believing me when I said we’d find a way?”

Alexia stared at you.

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek, trying to stop the tears.

“I applied for another job last week.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want you waiting for another answer.”

“What happened?”

“They offered it to someone who didn’t need sponsorship.”

Her eyes closed briefly.

“They said I was the strongest candidate.”

“Of course you were.”

“But not strong enough to make the paperwork worthwhile.”

“That isn’t what it means.”

“It’s exactly what it means.”

“No.” Alexia moved in front of you. “It means their system is broken.”

“A system can be broken and still decide what happens to my life.”

She took your hands despite the way you’d folded them against yourself.

“You have a life here.”

“I know.”

“You have work you love.”

“I know.”

“You have friends, people who depend on you, an entire community you built.”

“I know, Alexia.”

“You aren’t being left with nothing.”

“I don’t want to be grateful that I’m only losing you.”

The words silenced both of you.

You tried to pull your hands away.

She held on.

Not forcefully.

Desperately.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” Her voice trembled. “Don’t apologize for that.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You did.”

Tears slipped down her face.

“You meant it because it’s true.”

You let her pull you closer.

The first contact was awkward; both of you were still too tense to soften. Then Alexia wrapped her arms fully around you, and whatever remained of your composure disappeared.

You pressed your face into her shoulder.

“I want to go with you.”

“I know.”

“I want to see the house.”

“It’s yours too.”

“I want to hate London until it becomes home.”

Her arms tightened around you.

“I want that.”

“I don’t want to visit you. I don’t want to count days or keep clothes in a suitcase or ask border officers how long I’m allowed to stay with the woman I love.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want our life to become evidence in a legal application.”

Alexia made a broken sound against your hair.

For months, lawyers had requested proof.

Joint bills.

Travel records.

Photographs.

Messages.

Evidence that your relationship was genuine and continuing.

Years of love had been reduced to documents organized inside electronic folders.

You had photographs of birthdays, holidays, hospital visits, ordinary dinners, and sleepy mornings. You had lease agreements and shared accounts. You had thousands of messages.

None of it had produced the outcome you needed.

Alexia drew back enough to look at you.

“I’ll come back whenever I can.”

“You’ll be playing.”

“There are breaks.”

“You’ll have Spain.”

“I’ll make time.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can.”

“Alexia.”

“I can promise that I’ll try.”

You touched the dampness beneath her eye with your thumb.

“That’s different.”

“Then I promise I’ll try.”

You nodded.

It was the only honest promise either of you had left.

The last night in the apartment wasn’t romantic.

The bed had been stripped because Alexia had accidentally packed the sheets. You ate takeaway on the living room floor surrounded by boxes she’d sworn she didn’t need.

At eleven, she realized she’d packed her phone charger.

At midnight, you found it inside a box labeled kitchen.

At one, neither of you were asleep.

You lay on the bare mattress beneath a blanket that had escaped the movers. Alexia rested with her head against your chest, one arm across your stomach.

The apartment echoed around you.

“I can hear the refrigerator,” she murmured.

“You’ve always been able to hear it.”

“No. You usually talk too much.”

You threaded your fingers through her hair.

“I’m glad you’re leaving.”

She lifted her head.

“That isn’t funny.”

“I’m serious. I’ve spent months thinking about what this is taking from us. I don’t want you to get on the plane believing I resent the part of you that needs to go.”

“You can resent it.”

“I don’t.”

She watched you carefully.

“I resent the border. I resent every employer who told me I was perfect before deciding I was too complicated. I resent that before Brexit, we could’ve packed our lives into boxes and figured the rest out after we arrived.”

Alexia’s fingers curled into the blanket.

“I resent that we could get married and go together tomorrow, but only if I agreed to stop working.”

“I hate that most.”

You looked down at her.

“Why?”

“Because it would put you beside me and still take you away.”

Your throat tightened.

Alexia shifted until she was sitting beside you.

“I’ve imagined you in that house,” she said. “I’ve imagined waking up beside you. I’ve imagined you making coffee and complaining that the kitchen is too small. But every time I picture leaving for training while you stay behind with nothing that’s yours, I can’t breathe.”

“I’d find things to do.”

“That isn’t the same as having a life.”

“No.”

“You’d tell me you were fine.”

“Probably.”

“You’d try to make it easy for me.”

“Probably.”

“And one day I’d come home and realize you’d made yourself smaller so I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

You reached for her hand.

“I wouldn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

She laced her fingers with yours.

“That’s why I can’t ask.”

“You never did.”

“I thought about it.”

You appreciated the honesty even though it hurt.

“How many times?”

“Every day.”

You lowered your head to her shoulder.

“I thought about saying yes every day.”

Her cheek rested against your hair.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

There was comfort in admitting it.

You had both wanted the easier answer.

You had both understood it would create a different kind of damage.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” Alexia eventually whispered.

“You’re not doing it without me.”

“You won’t be there.”

“I won’t be in London.”

“That’s what I mean.”

You cupped the back of her neck.

“Look at me.”

She did.

“You’re going to wake up there. You’re going to train. You’re going to learn everyone’s names and forget where you left your keys. You’re going to call me to complain about the weather.”

“I already hate the weather.”

“You haven’t moved yet.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“You’re going to play football. I’m going to go to work here. We’re going to miss calls and become irritated and say things badly sometimes.”

“This isn’t helping.”

“We’ll visit. We’ll keep speaking to lawyers. I’ll keep applying. Maybe something changes. Maybe a museum realizes I’m worth the trouble. Maybe the law changes. Maybe your contract ends before any of that happens.”

“And if none of it does?”

You looked at the ceiling.

“Then eventually, we make another decision.”

Fear moved across her face.

“About us?”

“About what we’re willing to keep sacrificing.”

She sat up straighter.

“I’m not sacrificing us.”

“Neither am I.”

“Then don’t talk like this has an ending.”

“Everything has an ending, Alexia. A contract. A season. A life. That doesn’t mean we stop choosing it while it’s here.”

Her jaw tightened.

You knew she wanted certainty.

You wished you could give it to her.

Instead, you sat up and took her face between your hands.

“I love you.”

“That sounds like a goodbye.”

“It’s not.”

“It feels like one.”

“Then listen to the rest.”

She became very still.

“I love you, and I want you to go. I want you to find out who you are when everyone around you doesn’t already know your history. I want you to build something there. I want to hear every detail, even when it hurts.”

Tears gathered in her eyes.

“I want you beside me.”

“I want that too.”

“I could still stay.”

You shook your head.

“No.”

“You don’t get to decide for me.”

“And you don’t get to turn down London because a government made me feel small.”

“You aren’t small.”

“Then don’t make your life smaller to prove it.”

Alexia’s breath caught.

You moved closer until your knees touched hers.

“My work matters. My life here matters. I matter. I need to believe all of that even if the United Kingdom doesn’t recognize it on a list.”

“It should.”

“Yes.”

“It should recognize everything you’ve done.”

“Yes.”

“It should let you come with me without asking you to surrender it.”

“Yes.”

Her face crumpled.

You pulled her into your arms.

She cried against you with a rawness she’d held back for months. You kept one hand at the base of her neck and the other around her waist.

There was no solution hidden inside the moment.

There was only grief.

You let yourselves feel it.

At the airport, Alexia’s luggage was overweight.

It was such an ordinary problem that both of you laughed when the attendant told her.

Alexia opened one suitcase on the floor and began moving clothing between bags with the same concentration she used to study match footage.

“You don’t need six jackets,” you said.

“I do.”

“You’re moving to London, not the Arctic.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s July.”

“It will become cold.”

“You could buy a jacket there.”

“I like these.”

You crouched beside her and lifted a Barcelona sweatshirt.

“This is mine.”

“You gave it to me.”

“You stole it.”

“You didn’t ask for it back.”

“I’m asking now.”

She held the sweatshirt against her chest.

“No.”

You laughed again.

For a few minutes, you were simply yourselves.

Then the suitcase closed.

The attendant accepted it.

There was nothing left to delay.

Alexia stood in front of the security entrance, one hand wrapped around the strap of her carry-on. People moved around you with practiced impatience, dragging bags and checking phones.

“I don’t want to go through,” she said.

“You have to.”

“I could miss the flight.”

“There’s another one tonight.”

“I could miss that too.”

“They’ll keep scheduling flights, Ale.”

Her mouth trembled.

You reached into your bag and handed her a small wrapped package.

“What’s this?”

“Open it when you get there.”

“I’ll open it now.”

“You won’t.”

She looked at the package, then back at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No matter what happens.”

“Don’t.”

She frowned.

“Don’t make it sound like we’re already preparing for the end.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Alexia set her carry-on down and took your face between her hands.

“Then let me say it properly.”

You waited.

“I’m going to England. You’re staying in Barcelona. I hate both of those sentences.”

“So do I.”

“But I am still your partner.”

“Yes.”

“And you are still the person I’m coming home to.”

Your eyes burned.

“Even if home is here?”

“Home isn’t a country.”

She kissed you before you could answer.

It wasn’t delicate. Her hand slid behind your neck as you clutched the front of her shirt, holding her close despite knowing you couldn’t keep her there.

When she pulled back, both of you were crying.

“I’ll call when I land.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll call from the car.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll call from the house.”

“Alexia.”

“I’m going to call too much.”

“I know.”

She kissed your forehead.

Then she picked up her bag and walked toward security.

She looked back four times.

You counted.

You remained in the terminal long after she disappeared.

The package contained a key.

Alexia called you from the floor of the empty bedroom, holding it in her palm.

“What does it open?”

“The apartment.”

“Our apartment?”

“My apartment.”

“Our apartment.”

You smiled despite the ache in your chest.

“You left yours in the bowl beside the door twice last month. I thought you should have a spare.”

She ran her thumb across the metal.

“Why give it to me now?”

“Because I need you to know you can come back.”

Her face blurred briefly as the video call adjusted.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I think leaving makes people feel like they need permission to return.”

Alexia looked away from the screen.

Behind her, the new bedroom was empty except for her suitcases and a mattress still wrapped in plastic.

“I put a key to this house aside for you.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be allowed to use it.”

“You’ll use it when you visit.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No.”

You appreciated that she didn’t pretend.

She held your key in her closed fist.

“One day, I’m going to put this on the ring beside the London key.”

“One day.”

“And we won’t need lawyers.”

“I’d like never to speak to another lawyer again.”

She laughed softly.

The sound traveled from England to Barcelona with a slight digital delay.

It wasn’t enough.

It was something.

Outside your window, the city had begun to darken. The apartment around you still held evidence of Alexia everywhere. Her mug is beside the sink. Her spare boots near the door. The indentation her body had made on her side of the sofa.

In London, she sat in a new house that had been purchased with you in mind, though you had no legal right to build your life there without surrendering the work that helped make you whole.

The unfairness remained.

It would still be there tomorrow.

You would wake alone. She would begin training. You would return to the cultural center and guide another group through rooms filled with art people had created because ordinary language wasn’t enough.

Perhaps that was what the two of you were doing now.

Building something from absence.

Giving shape to a hurt too large to explain cleanly.

Alexia lifted the key toward the camera.

“I’m coming home.”

“You just arrived.”

“I mean Barcelona.”

“I know.”

“And you’re coming here.”

“I’m going to keep trying.”

Her eyes softened.

It wasn’t certainty.

It was the promise you could honestly make.

For now, it had to be enough.

The border had decided where you could work. It had decided how many days you could spend in Alexia’s new home and what documents you would need to show before being permitted to enter.

It had measured your education, your salary, and your profession.

It had offered you a route through marriage, but only if you agreed to become dependent on the woman you loved and leave behind the work that made your life your own.

It had found your career useful, admirable, and insufficient.

It could determine where your body was allowed to remain.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve got a couple bits to sort out. Have to show the main man my face so he knows why I’m missin’ trainin’” you laughed.

“Eat that first” Alessia pointed towards the rake of food she’d made for you that you hadn’t even looked at yet.

“Thanks Lessi” you raised your eyebrows to take in the large amount of food and immediately started digging in.

“Just thought you’d be starvin’” she joked, mocking your Irish accent.

“I’m always starvin’” you chuckled with a mouth full of food.

“Are you sure I can’t drive you?” Alessia asked again. “I can wait for you to talk to your coach or whatever” she offered, staring straight at the cut on your eyebrow that was stopping you from opening your eye fully.

“Well, if-”

“Perfect! I’ll go get ready” she smiled at the fact that you’d caved and raced out of the kitchen before you could say anything else.

You’d never had a friend like Alessia. Or really a friend at all before. You struggled with the fact that she was someone that was so attractive but that it was strictly platonic with. Up until you woke up this morning and looked at your phone, you probably would have continued trying subtly to change her mind. A lot of girls you’d slept with had told you they were straight too. But, once you seen the text from Gabriella, you didn’t give two shits about anybody else. It was her, and it always would be her.

When you got back to the spare room, you’d noticed Alessia had left clothes on your bed and you heard her potter back downstairs. You got changed into the clothes, that definitely were not hers, and followed her back down.

“Whose are these?” You asked from the kitchen door, watching the confused looking girl staring at the kitchen table.

“Where’s all the plates?” She frowned, ignoring your question entirely.

“In this magical place called the dishwasher” you teased, wondering why she was looking at you as if you were God’s gift.

“Thank you” she smiled softly and you noticed her expression looked genuine.

“Yeah, no worries” you shrugged. “Thanks for cookin’ breakfast” you mumbled back.

“Right, let’s hit the road. It’s a long drive to Sutton” she giggled, and you followed out after her to put your shoes on.

Alessia drove you back to your house and on the way there she had the radio blaring with the shittest playlist you’d ever heard. You’d been too busy texting a certain someone to care, but once Gabriella had stopped replying, you went to reach for the radio to connect your phone instead.

“Don’t even think about it. My car, my rules” Alessia said as she slapped your hand, forgetting it was red and bruised as you winced. “Shit, I’m so sorry” she sighed.

“It’s fine” you shook your head and shooed her hand away as she was trying to hold yours to have a better look. “But will ye let me connect my phone to make it up to me?” you smirked. It only took one long eye roll before Alessia agreed and you switched her country playlist to your better one.

“This is just noise. Literal noise” Alessia moaned.

“It’s quality” you argued back. Alessia begrudgingly let you play your music up until you got to your door. You’d messaged your coach and asked him to meet you at your house to save Alessia having to drive you to the gym.

“You fucking eejit, what happened to you?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you unlocked your front door.

“Got into a bit of a fight with our favourite person” you mumbled with a laugh.

“Well if you look like this, I’d love to see what she looks like” he chuckled, slapping your back. “Who’s the blonde thing in the car?” He asked.

“Don’t be startin’” you mumbled, shaking your head.

“Was the fight over her?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“No, Gabby” you whispered, almost like you didn’t want to admit it.

“Dara and Gabriella?” He gasped. “She has a type, doesn’t she?” He smirked as you stuck the finger up at him.

“I’m gonna take this week off trainin’. I’ll run and shit but I’m not gettin’ in the ring” you said, hearing the front door close from where you were both stood in the kitchen.

“Yeah that’s fine” he nodded. “I’ll send you over your meal prep and out of ring schedule and then we can start ring work next week” he added, squeezing your shoulder before heading outside. “Alright darling?” he smiled at Alessia.

“Get out ye thick” you shouted from the kitchen as he slipped by Alessia and left. “Ye alright Lessi?” You called as the girl made her way into you.

“He seems pleasant” Alessia frowned.

“Ah he’s harmless” you shrugged. “Make yourself a cup of tea or somethin’ if ye want. I’ll be 10 minutes” you told the girl, before heading off upstairs to pack your clothes.

When you got back downstairs and found the blonde standing at the bottom of the staircase with two travel mugs with steam belting out of them.

“Made you a cup of tea too for the drive” she smiled, handing you the mug.

“Thanks Lessi baby” you grinned, grabbing it off her and ushering her outside. You threw your gym bag filled with clothes and whatever else you needed in the boot, before heading back inside to lock the house up.

“Go on then” you groaned when you settled back into the passenger seat.

“What?” She laughed.

“Your car, your rules. Back to your shite music” you mumbled, a bit defeated.

-

“So, what do you want to do?” Alessia asked as you shrugged. You’d gotten back to Alessia’s a few hours ago and she’d made you both lunch, before joining you to chill out on the couch. She was just about to start dinner so she wanted to source a plan before she did.

“Ye don’t need to cook again, Lessi” you chuckled. “I’m gonna order us somethin’, alright?” you said as she nodded with a smile.

“I’m going to go get changed” she informed you. “I’m leaving it in your capable hands to order something nice” she giggled.

“Challenge accepted” you smirked, taking out your phone and watching the blonde leave the room.

Gabriella

Hey xx

We still on? x

Don’t want you to change your mind ☹️ x

Y/n

Definitely x

I won’t change my mind xx

Gabriella

Can’t wait ❤️ xx

You ordered you and Alessia’s food before the girl stumbled back into the living room, wearing short shorts and a jumper. She sat beside you and grabbed the remote, starting to scroll through some options on Netflix that you could watch. The movie very quickly became a distant background noise because both of you wouldn’t stop talking to each other.

“I’ve never really had like, a mate before” you shrugged.

“A friend like me you mean?” She frowned.

“No. I uh just- I didn’t really talk to many people when I was in school apart from Gabriella and then my house was always just so loud, there wasn’t a need to talk to anybody else” you mumbled.

“Well, I am your friend” Alessia clarified. “Now I’m glad I offered to drive you earlier” she laughed, letting her head press against the back of the couch.

“Why?” Your eyebrows pressed against each other in confusion as you let your head fall back too.

“Well, I was afraid” Alessia admitted.

“Of what?” You frowned.

“If I didn’t drive you, you probably wouldn’t have came back” Alessia whispered. Her eyes bore into yours as both of your heads, still pressed against the cushions on the couch, turned to face each other.

“Yeah, probably not” you replied softly. Your eyes fell to her lips and you watched as her teeth sunk into her bottom one. You felt her shift subtly on the couch and your hand went to reach for her waist instinctively, as if you were both melting into a kiss that hadn’t happened yet. The irritating noise of the doorbell broke the two of you apart and Alessia shot to her feet to answer the door.

“Yes” Alessia shouted, and you scrambled to your feet, thinking something was wrong at the door. Only, you met a confused looking delivery guy at the doorstep and a beaming blonde with the bag of Chinese food in her hand. “I was craving a Chinese” she giggled.

“Sorry, she didn’t know what I ordered. It was a surprise” you mumbled to the boy and took your wallet out as Alessia went off to the kitchen with the bag.

“That’ll be £32” he choked, a bit confused at the situation on your face.

“Boxer” you clarified as he nodded. “Here mate, keep it” you said, handing him a £50 note and closing the door behind you.

You walked into the kitchen to find the blonde plating up the food you’d ordered. You stood in amusement, leaning against the door frame with your arms crossed and a smile creeping onto your face as you watched her humming along to no particular tune.

“Need a hand?” You asked.

“No, no” she shook her head. You walked towards her anyway and picked up the empty containers that were lying on the press.

“I’ll get rid of these, will I?” you said. Your hand fell on her waist as you tried to reach around to the opposite side of her. You felt her push back against you slightly and you didn’t pull away.

“Ye okay?” You asked as the girl nodded and her head fell back to lean against your shoulder. “Will I take them inside?” You asked, removing your hand from her waist and moving it to the bowls of food.

“Yes please” she nodded.

Alessia followed you in a few minutes later and once you both finished eating she pushed herself against you and stuck something for you to watch on the TV.

“Is this okay?” She asked. But she knew it was.

“Yeah” you nodded. “More than” you added.

“I really like having you here, Y/n”

“I like bein’ here, Lessi” you mumbled back and felt her snuggle into you a little more.

Alessia was such a good friend.

-

That chilled out vibe was pretty much how the entirety of your time spent in Alessia’s house went. Although there was definitely less take aways and a lot more cooking to match your meal plan, together. You’d both go for runs together and you’d do what you needed to do while Alessia was at work.

Every night though, Alessia would fall asleep pressed against you on the couch and you’d carry her upstairs to bed, before heading into the spare room. It felt odd leaving her every night for go into the other room. You wondered sometimes what it would be like if she asked you to stay. Or what it would be like waking up beside her.

You remembered how nice that feeling felt with Gabriella that she was the last thing you saw at night and the first thing you saw in the morning. You wondered if you would ever have it again. Even if you did find it again, it wouldn’t be with Alessia.

Maybe it would work with Gabriella this time.

-

It had perfectly aligned that everyone was out of reach when you and Gabriella planned to meet up. Dara was gone to Mexico and all of your footballer siblings and friends were on international duty.

You felt like you were a child again, getting excited on the drive that you weee going to see her. You’d debated buying her something, but wanted to leave no paper trail that you were here, so you didn’t. Instead of knocking, you texted her when you were outside and let her turn the doorbell camera off for you to come in.

“Hi” she smiled.

“Hey” you smirked back at your ex girlfriend, who looked so fit. Alessia who?

She wasted no time whatsoever in putting her lips against yours and jumping into your arms. You were never one to waste time, so you broke away from the girls lips momentarily to ask one question. “Couch or bed?”

Being back with Gabriella just put you back to being that 14 year old that fell in love with the English girl that had just moved to your school. It felt like you’d never been apart from each other, until reality hit and you remembered you were currently lying beside a girl who ruined your life. You got off the bed, leaving the girl who was scrolling on her phone to frown at the sight of you getting dressed and grabbing your car keys from the bedside table.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“Home” you shrugged.

“Why can’t you stay?” She pouted.

“I’ve stuff to do” you mumbled, taking a step forward to leave before she spoke again.

“Since when did you become this person that just fucked a girl and left?” She huffed.

“Since I walked in on my girlfriend ridin’ someone” you bit back.

“Jesus Christ, we weren’t-” Gabriella sighed and you watched her face drop. “Nothing happened with him” she whispered as your shoulders and neck tightened in frustration.

“So I walked in on nothin’, did I?” You challenged, watching as the girl pushed her back against the bed frame and wrapped her arms around her knees. “What?” You frowned.

“You’ve never let me explain what actually happened” she pouted, threatening to cry.

“Yeah well, I had the right to be fumin’ Gabby” you argued back as she shook her head.

“I know” she sobbed and you stupidly sat back down. “It was a horrible mistake and I don’t know why it happened” she began. “I don’t even like boys, you know that. He was just a guy in my class and we were studying before he kissed me and I didn’t know what to do”

“Did ye wanna kiss him?” You frowned.

“No, but I didn’t stop him either” she winced at the thought of it before shaking her head again.

“Why didn’t ye let me punch him?” You asked, in a serious tone, waving your hands about. A thing you often did in frustration.

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble” she said, taking hold of your hand in hers. “I was afraid you’d lose your contract for punching someone outside of a ring” she added.

“Clearly your new girlfriend doesn’t care that much” you chuckled, watching as the girl got on to her knees and cupped your face. She was scanning your face, looking at the marks from the cuts and bruises that had started to fade.

“Well, she definitely came out worse than you did” Gabriella bit her lip, trying to stop herself from laughing.

“How long is she gone to Mexico for?” You asked as you felt her hand slink around your neck and grip it tightly.

“A week and a half” Gabriella smirked, knowing she had you hooked around her little finger again. “Stay with me tonight” she whispered in your ear as you nodded and re-connected your lips with hers.

You still had the gym bag in your boot that you’d took to Alessia’s with you. So, when Gabriella agreed to do your washing, you stayed with her for a few days, driving from her house to training every day. You’d mostly tried making up for lost time with her, because you knew, as much as she told you over and over again that she loved you, she wasn’t going to end things with Dara.

You still felt content with your current situation when she kissed you goodbye at the door and told you she couldn’t wait to see you again. You were still just that love sick teenager that didn’t want her to be out of your life.

Before your drive home, you decided to stop into Katie’s to check in on Ella. With Caitlin and Katie being gone you needed to check your little sister was functioning and hadn’t burned the house down in their absence.

“Ella” you shouted when you opened the front door of the house, but frowned when you didn’t get a response. You checked the place she normally was, and sure enough, she was there, snuggled up on the sofa watching a stupid reality show as usual. “Did ye not hear me callin’ ye?” You asked.

“I did, I just knew ye’d come in here straight away” she laughed. “Was gonna order somethin’ if ye wanted to stay for a bit” she mentioned casually and you knew instantly that meant she wanted you to stay.

“Yeah, go on” you nodded. Just as she hit place order for the food and had you locked into the fact that food was on the way, she decided to hit you with something bizarre.

“I’m thinkin’ about gettin’ back with my ex” she blurted out.

“What? Absolutely fuckin’ not Ella” you grumbled, as an instant frown hit your face.

“He apologised” she shrugged.

“Ella, no. It’s not happenin’, end of story” you said a bit more firm this time, to really get your point across.

“Listen, Y/n, I wish I was more like ye, havin’ all that will power to keep away from your ex after she done the dirt on ye. Like I know ye’d never go back there because you’re so smart and have everythin’ figured out” Ella smirked and you knew that the little bitch knew. “And I know for certain that if I went back to him I would 100% turn off my location and not let my older sister see where I’ve been for the past few days”.

“Fuck off Ella” you groaned.

“Are ye that simple?” Ella asked.

“No, we talked it out and it’s grand now” you shrugged.

“Oh that’s good then, so she broke up with Dara?” Ella challenged as you rolled your eyes. “Thought so” your little sister laughed.

“I mean it, ye cannot say anythin’” you warned your younger sister in a tone she’d never heard you use with her before.

“It’s not my news to tell, is it?” She shrugged. “But I’d like ye, for your own sake, to think about what you’re doin’” Ella added.

“Yeah” you replied, not really taking much of what Ella was saying in. You stayed and ate with her before driving back home and didn’t end up getting in until late. You were expecting when you took your phone out to see a text from a certain someone, but were surprised to see nothing had came in, from her anyway.

Lessi 👸🏼

Miss you

Earth to Y/n? Stop ignoring me after I nursed you back to health 👩‍⚕️

Y/n/n 🐻

My bad sorry

Been busy

See you when you’re back?

Lessi 👸🏼

Can’t wait x

You were a god awful person to text and always had been. You’d give the most blunt replies possible, but it wasn’t out of a lack of care, it was just that was all you could think to say.

-

You’d been training hard since returning to the ring. Although you weren’t overly concerned with the girl you were set to fight, you never let your standards drop, regardless of who your opposition was.

You and Alessia had arranged to meet up in a few days time, allowing her to settle back into work and whatever. You’d heard from Gabriella briefly, Dara was back from Mexico now so you knew why communication was lacking a little. You kind of liked sneaking around with her, especially because you knew it would ruin Dara if she found out.

Your agent had called you during the week to let you know Adidas needed you for a photoshoot, and you didn’t have any choice but to agree. They gave you free shorts, gloves, oh, and money, so you couldn’t really turn it down.

The morning of the shoot, you’d had a particularly bad start to the day. You’d trained early and you and your coach had gotten into a roaring match over something in relation to fight prep. You’d text Gabriella to ask if she was around to talk, now that you had a support system back that you could openly speak to, you didn’t even hesitate sending off the needy message.

Gabriella

Can’t talk, Dara’s home today. Maybe see you soon? x

So you turned up at the photoshoot absolutely fuming from the events this morning and Gabriella’s lack of interest in anything but having sex with you. But, like an angel sent from heaven, you were assigned to a cute girl who was going to look after you for the day. Although you were sort of back with Gabriella, you could still look elsewhere, right?

“You’ll just be here for the day until someone calls you for your shoot. If you need anything at all you can call me” she smiled. You already had the flirty line sorted in your head of what you were going to say back to the girl, but a barrel of blonde hair interrupted you by crashing into your body.

“You didn’t tell me you were doing this too” Alessia giggled, punching you in the arm. You watched the girl who’d shown you to your station walk off and you shot Alessia a smile.

“Didn’t think ye’d be roped into it” you shrugged, letting the girl give you a hug. She gave nice hugs.

“It’s good to see you” Alessia smiled.

“Yeah, good to see ye too Lessi” you nodded, gripping her a little bit tighter when she went to move away.

“Everything alright?” She asked.

“All good” you mumbled. You couldn’t really explain to Alessia that you were having trouble with Gabriella, because that would require admitting you went back to the person that broke you.

You sat patiently waiting for someone to call you, letting the blonde ramble on about how international camp had gone. When you were called, you noticed it was only the two of you and the camera crew left. All the other athletes had finished up and went home.

“Okay, here’s what we want you to do” the camera man began to explain. They got you kitted up fully and into straps and gloves before a guy who looked like he didn’t even know what boxing was, never mind how to hold pads, appeared with two pads strapped to his hands. “Just hit the pads in some combinations and we’ll just shoot it from different angles” the camera man told you as you nodded.

So, you gave the pads a few solid hits just to test the guy out and he seemed a bit scared.

“That too hard?” You teased him as he shook his head anxiously.

“Go easy” Alessia giggled from the sidelines, getting her make up done as you continued on. You threw the combination the director had called and as your threw a left hook, he moved the pad at the last second, causing your wrist to zing in pain.

“Fuckin’ hell” you shouted, ripping your gloves off with your teeth and clutching your left wrist.

“Wait, stop for a second” Alessia said to the make up artist softly as she jumped out of the chair to get to you.

“If you’re gonna make me hit pads, get me someone that can fuckin’ hold them. He could have broken my fuckin’ wrist” you shouted towards the director.

“Calm down” Alessia cooed, cupping your face and pulling your attention to her. “You can’t speak to them like that” she warned.

“But he could’ve-” you were about to snap.

“I know” she whispered in agreement and gave a subtle nod. “Give me a look” she said, tugging your wrist, which wasn’t actually sore anymore, lightly towards her.

“Sorry” you mumbled towards the director as he shook his head and put his hand up to indicate you were fine.

“Ms Russo” someone shouted as she wandered off, vowing to be back momentarily. “Do you two want to do the rest of today together?” They asked.

“As in, take photos together?” Alessia clarified.

“Yeah, we’ve been looking to do a crossover campaign with two female athletes from different sports. We had both of you in mind but we didn’t know you two were friends” he smiled. “We think we could get her to agree if you could ask? If you wouldn’t mind maybe-” he said again, almost like they were all afraid of you.

“Y/n, we’re doing the rest of the shoot together” Alessia shouted.

“Okay” you shouted back.

“Well that was easy” him and Alessia chuckled.

The two of you actually ended up having a lot of fun. You got to get Alessia in gloves and get her to hit some pads that you were holding. It was the first time all day that Alessia seen you laughing when you had her running combinations. When you’d finished the boxing portion, Alessia got to get you into a different type of gloves and into a football goal, smacking ball after ball at you.

It was during that when you remembered that the first time you smiled all day was when you seen her earlier. Alessia made you happy.

When you both left the shoot, to start packing up, Alessia heard the girl that was assigned to you earlier squealing to her friend that she’d begged to be put with you today because she found you attractive. Alessia couldn’t understand why, but she got so angry at the girl and shot her the filthiest look as she walked back towards you. When you finished up, you walked Alessia over to her car to say goodbye.

“You sure everything’s okay?” She asked as you leaned against her car.

“Yeah, yeah” you nodded, albeit unconvincingly. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and checked it, zoning Alessia out entirely.

“Do you maybe want to come back to mine?” Alessia asked, a sense of forwardness in her tone.

Gabriella

Dara’s had a change of plans and had to go out, come collect me x

“Yeah sounds good Lessi, I’ll chat to you later” you nodded, not even looking up at the girl as you walked off to your car.

“Dick” Alessia mumbled as she slipped into her own car and went back to her empty house.

You sped off towards Gabriella’s house and smirked at the fact she was stood there waiting for you.

“Hi baby” she said, pressing her lips to yours.

“Hi darlin’” you replied, pulling her waist closer to you and almost dragging the girl over to sit on your lap. “Where’d ye wanna go?” You asked.

“The backseat, preferably” she smirked as you chuckled at her. She buckled herself in as you drove you both somewhere a little bit more isolated and climbed into the back seat together.

Since you’d gotten back with Gabriella, your mind had been a bit all over the place. You seemed angrier than usual and nobody, except for Ella, could pinpoint what who was the cause of it. Things only became a bit more complicated when you got a text from your older sister, Amanda.

Amanda

Hey, just reminding you that I am getting married in two months, and I’m presuming, despite you not having sent your RSVP back, that you are coming to my wedding. Are you bringing someone or what?