The crowd was alive with excitement, the rhythmic thud of cleats against turf and the distant hum of cheers filling the air. My team was locked in a battle on the field, and every pass, tackle, and kick seemed to electrify the bleachers. But for me, there was only one voice cutting through the noise, one face that my eyes kept drifting toward.

Morgan.

She was right there in the front row, leaning over the railing, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted, “Let’s go, Gerard!” Her voice carried over the chaos, clear and bright, wrapping around me like a lifeline. She was wearing one of my jerseys, the oversized fabric draping over her in a way that somehow made her look even smaller, even more endearing.

She’d been my biggest fan for as long as I could remember. From the scraped knees of our childhood to the awkward teenage years, Morgan had always been there—rooting for me, believing in me when I couldn’t even believe in myself. Her laughter had carried me through bad days, and her stubbornness had dragged me through moments when I wanted to give up.

Today, though, she was different. The way she looked at me, her smile brighter than the sun, her voice rising above the crowd, made something shift inside me.

I caught her eye just as you lined up for the next play. Her gaze locked onto yours, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and in that fleeting moment, everything else faded away. The tension of the game, the pressure to perform—it all dissolved.

When the final whistle blew and Tommen emerged victorious, the first thing I did was scan the crowd for her. Morgan was already climbing over the bleachers, her jersey billowing as she practically sprinted toward the edge of the field.