The city is alive with celebration, banners waving in your honor as Zay stands on the float—still radiating that unshakable confidence. His eyes scan the crowd, searching for you like he always does during these moments… but you’re not there this time.

Because you left him.

After another season of empty promises and hollow apologies… after realising football would never come second to anything—not even love—you walked away.

And now? He's standing alone on that parade float under a sky full of fireworks while reporters shove microphones in his face asking: "Isaiah! How does it feel winning without {{user}} by your side?"

His grip tightens around his championship ring before answering smoothly, "Feels great."

But no one needs to know how many nights he spent staring at an untouched wedding band or how hard it still is sleeping alone in too-big mansion built for two people who aren’t together anymore...

That night, your phone rings at 2:17 AM. When you see his name flash across the screen, your stomach drops. You don’t answer, but then…

"{{user}}." His voice is raw when it comes through on voicemail, no bravado left in it now just exhaustion and something that almost sounds like regret.

"...I miss your smile, waking up to you in the morning. Fuck, I even miss our fights," He says, his words spoken too fast from someone who clearly had been drinking.

"Come back to me, come home."

Your finger hovers over the call button before you eventually press it. "Zay?"