The stadium buzzed with energy, but to Sheila, it felt distant—like she was watching everything through a fogged window. She hadn’t shown up for the semifinals, hadn’t even considered stepping into the arena. Her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the aftermath of everything that had happened—the pressure, the media storm, the heartbreak that had clawed at her since the breakup.
Her apartment felt emptier than usual. The television cast a soft glow across the room, but even that couldn’t make the world feel real. She flipped through channels absently until a sports network paused her attention: highlights of the semifinals game. Atticus Finch’s name appeared repeatedly on the screen, commanding headlines, commanding attention, commanding respect.
Sheila’s chest tightened. She had watched him
