After the Fall

The stadium buzzed with energy, a restless sea of faces decked out in team colors, flags waving high, and voices rising and falling with every play on the field. Brena sat alone, her eyes vaguely following the ball as it darted from one end of the pitch to the other. She barely understood what was happening; she didn’t even know the teams’ names. But she needed noise, chaos, a mass of people moving in unison to distract her from the hollow ache inside. It was strange for her to be here, and maybe a little ridiculous. Football had never been her thing, nor any sport, really. But this wasn’t about cheering for a team or even understanding the game; it was about escaping. She had never felt more alone in her life, yet the crowd made her feel a little less so. There was a comfort, somehow, in their collective excitement, even if she didn’t share it. She wrapped her arms around herself, tugging her coat tighter as the chill of the London air nipped at her face. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—another friend checking in, no doubt. Another message reminding her to “move on” and that “things happen for a reason.” She ignored it. All those sentiments felt meaningless now. None of them could heal the gaping wound left by a breakup that shattered her after five years of love, patience, and dreams of a future together. And it wasn’t just the breakup. No, it was the months of fighting to make it work, to be accepted by his family who never fully welcomed her, who saw her as something—someone—that didn’t fit into their well-manicured lives. She had tried to believe it didn’t matter, that he would stand by her, that love was enough. But that lie had fallen apart when he broke it off. Even worse, he hadn’t just walked away. He had walked into another woman’s arms. It had taken him less than a month to marry someone else, the perfect girl his parents had always wanted for him. Brena had seen the announcement on social media, her hands shaking as she scrolled through images of their wedding: the laughter, the perfect setting, the parents smiling at the new daughter-in-law who fit right into the family photo. Brena clenched her fists. The cheering crowd erupted as someone scored, and she blinked, realizing that she’d missed it entirely. She looked around, catching the exhilaration on strangers’ faces, and wished she could borrow just a sliver of it. She wished she knew how to feel that way, how to feel…anything that didn’t sting. For months, she’d kept it all together, numbly going through the motions, pretending she was fine. But tonight, the weight was too much. She needed to feel alive, even if it was just by being part of someone else’s excitement. Her gaze wandered across the sea of faces, strangers shouting and laughing, some wrapped in their own worlds but somehow united by the game. She took a deep breath, letting herself be carried by the collective roar, hoping—maybe just for tonight—that she could let go of the pain, or at least bury it deep enough to get through another day. Brena’s throat tightened as she sat there, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her. Tears prickled her eyes, and before she could stop herself, a frustrated sob slipped out. She buried her face in her hands, but the tears just kept coming, pouring out all the resentment, the anger, the betrayal she’d kept locked inside. “Dammit…” she muttered under her breath, half-choking on the word. She clenched her fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. “How could you… How could you just—” Her words trailed off, swallowed by the roar of the crowd. But here, in the middle of this packed stadium, surrounded by people who didn’t know her, she let herself cry openly. A voice piped up beside her, tinged with a thick London accent. “Oh, love, don’t be too upset! It’s just a game, yeah?” Brena lifted her head, startled. A middle-aged couple beside her was watching her with concern, their expressions soft. The woman, wearing a thick red scarf and holding a hot cup of tea, reached out a comforting hand. “I know it’s disappointing when the other team scores, but there’s plenty of time left! They could still turn it around!” Brena blinked, feeling her cheeks flush. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it, realizing how ridiculous she must look, crying her eyes out in the middle of a football game. They thought she was upset over the match. How could she possibly explain that she didn’t care about the score? That she didn’t even know which team was which? “I—um…” she stammered, wiping her eyes quickly. “Yeah, I guess I got a bit… emotional.” “Aw, bless your heart,” the woman continued, patting Brena’s shoulder. “My husband’s the same way, honestly. You should’ve seen him last season when they missed the semi-finals by a hair! Had him fuming for days!” The man chuckled, clearly unbothered by the story. “Ain’t that the truth! We all get a bit wrapped up in it, don’t we?” He leaned closer, grinning. “Cheer up, love! We’ll be back in the lead in no time. Just you wait.” The woman nodded earnestly, as if her optimism could somehow lift Brena’s spirits. “It’s all about having hope, yeah? You never know what might happen until the last minute.” The kindness in their voices made Brena’s throat tighten all over again, though now from an unexpected warmth. She didn’t deserve their sympathy, not for this. But she found herself nodding, grateful that, for a moment, they were willing to believe she was just a passionate fan. “Thank you,” she said softly, trying to smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. There’s… still time.” “There you go!” the woman beamed. “Besides, you don’t want to go home with a sour face, do you?” Brena forced a laugh. “No, I guess I don’t.” She managed to stop her hands from shaking, though her heart still felt heavy. But maybe, just for tonight, she could hide her pain behind the mask of a football fan in distress. She nodded to the couple, whispering a quiet “thanks” under her breath as the match carried on. The couple gave Brena one last sympathetic smile before turning their attention back to the match. Brena managed to hold her composure until they were no longer looking her way, but as soon as they did, her shoulders sagged, and she let out a shaky breath. She stared blankly at the field, though her thoughts were far from the game. Her mind was filled with images of him—the man she’d thought was her future, her everything. The memories of their five years together ran through her head like a cruel highlight reel, each one a reminder of the life she’d thought they’d build. How naive she’d been, believing that love would conquer everything, even the relentless disapproval from his parents. Five years, she thought, bitterly. Five years I gave to you, and you threw it away like it was nothing. Her fists clenched as she continued her silent tirade, her eyes burning with fresh tears. Was it that easy for you? To just… move on? To replace me? She bit her lip hard to keep from sobbing out loud, though the fury bubbled just under the surface. She wanted to scream, to curse him for every moment she’d wasted on him, for every promise he’d broken. You coward, she seethed silently. You couldn’t even stand up for us. And the second you got out, you ran right into her arms. Well, I hope you’re happy now. I hope you’re absolutely miserable with her. She knew it was petty, but in that moment, she didn’t care. The cheers around her swelled as one team moved down the field, but Brena barely registered it, lost in her own world of anger and heartbreak. “Why couldn’t you just… fight for us?” she whispered to herself, voice breaking. “Why couldn’t you see me? Really see me?” In the safety of the crowd, with everyone’s eyes focused on the field, she let herself cry again. Her tears fell silently this time, slipping down her cheeks as her resentment boiled over into a soft, bitter mumble. She knew she was a fool for still hurting like this, for still holding on to the ache of it all. But the pain was real, and it felt like it had settled into her bones, refusing to let go. Just as Brena thought she was finally alone in her misery, the middle-aged couple turned back to her, their faces lit with renewed curiosity. “Sweetheart, don’t take it so hard,” the woman said, smiling warmly as she gently draped an arm around Brena’s shoulders. “I bet your favorite player must be Dante, yeah? Everyone’s crazy about him these days. He’s practically a star on and off the field—talented, good-looking, the whole package!” Brena blinked, trying to keep up with the woman’s enthusiastic words. Dante? Who’s Dante? She could feel her cheeks heating up, completely lost. The woman and her husband were both looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for some sort of response. “Oh, uh…” Brena stammered, feeling her face flush even deeper. She gave a small, embarrassed shake of her head, hoping they wouldn’t press her further. “Oh! Well, that’s surprising!” the husband chuckled, giving her a playful nudge. “Usually, everyone’s here for him. You don’t see many fans so dedicated to other players. So, who’s your favorite, then?” Feeling trapped and still clueless about anyone on the field, Brena looked around frantically. Her eyes landed on a group of players huddled together in one corner. Without thinking, she raised a finger and pointed. “That one!” she blurted out, trying to sound as certain as possible. The couple’s faces fell slightly, looking at each other before looking back at her. The husband’s brows knitted together in mild confusion. “Love…that’s the other team’s players, you know that, right?” “Oh!” Brena’s face flushed even darker, realizing she’d just pointed at the wrong team. She gave herself a mental slap. Nice going, Brena. Way to look like a total fool. Quickly, she backtracked, waving her hand in the air as if erasing her mistake. “Oh no, I meant… him!” She pointed again, this time picking someone in a white jersey with a captain’s armband, hoping this was closer to the mark. The couple broke into gentle laughter, clearly amused by her flustered attempt to save face. “Yes! That’s Dante!” the woman said, smiling warmly as she patted Brena’s hand reassuringly. “The one in the white jersey with the captain’s armband. See, you do know him after all!” Brena forced a smile, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. “Oh, right. Dante, of course. I… just had a bit of a moment there.” The husband chuckled and nodded understandingly. “Don’t worry, love. Happens to the best of us. And it’s perfectly normal—young folks these days, they’re all drawn to Dante. Talented, easy on the eyes… can’t blame you, honestly.” “Yeah,” Brena muttered, forcing another smile, though inside she was berating herself. Get it together, Brena. You can’t even pretend to know what you’re talking about. The woman gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Enjoy it, love. We don’t get stars like him every day. And trust me, when he scores, you’ll see why he’s such a big deal.” Brena nodded, hoping she could keep her confusion hidden. With a final smile, the couple turned back to the game, leaving her to sit in her self-imposed mess. The crowd’s energy was electric, the entire stadium buzzing with cheers, boos, and excited chatter. Brena, however, sat staring into the distance, her mind far from the field, drifting back into her tangled thoughts. The shouts around her grew louder as the play intensified, but she barely registered it, too lost in her own world of hurt. Suddenly, out of nowhere, wham! A searing pain erupted across her face, and everything went blurry. She gasped, clutching her nose as hot blood trickled between her fingers. “Oh, bloody hell!” she cursed under her breath, her voice muffled as she pinched her nose to stop the bleeding. People around her turned, shocked and concerned. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as they saw her holding her nose, blood smeared across her face. Voices rose all around her, people speculating, pointing, and nudging each other. The stadium’s attention momentarily shifted to her. “Oh my dear! Are you alright?” the woman beside her exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. Before Brena could answer, the husband sprang into action, putting a protective arm around her shoulders. “She’s our daughter!” he announced to the onlookers, quickly inventing a story to ease the crowd’s curiosity. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. Just a bit of a scare, is all.” The woman caught on quickly, taking Brena’s other arm and patting her comfortingly. “Yes, yes, just a little accident. Poor thing’s got a bit of a nosebleed, that’s all.” Brena blinked, momentarily stunned by their intervention. Did they just pretend I was their daughter? she thought, feeling a strange warmth in her chest. A stadium medic was already weaving through the crowd, making his way toward her. He held out a hand, gesturing for her to come down. “Miss, come with me. Let’s get you checked out in the medical room, just to be safe.” “No, really, I’m fine!” Brena protested, feeling her cheeks flush in embarrassment. She didn’t want to make a scene, especially over something as silly as a nosebleed. “It’s just… just a small hit. I don’t need anything.” The woman gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, love, no use in being stubborn now. Let them take care of you. Besides, we’ll come along, make sure you’re alright. Won’t we, darling?” she added, glancing at her husband, who nodded earnestly. “Aye, we’ll be right there with you, sweetheart,” he said with a gentle smile. “Let’s just make sure you’re all sorted, yeah?” Brena hesitated, glancing between them and the medic who waited patiently nearby. A part of her wanted to resist, to insist she didn’t need anyone. But there was something so comforting, so unexpectedly warm about this couple’s presence. She nodded reluctantly, allowing them to help her up. “Thank you,” she murmured, still holding her nose as she felt another small trickle of blood. She managed a shaky smile. “You don’t… really have to come.” The woman shook her head, brushing off Brena’s words. “Nonsense. You’re practically family now,” she said with a wink, giving Brena’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Besides, it’ll be our little secret, alright? No need to be embarrassed.” The man laughed softly as he wrapped an arm around Brena’s shoulder to guide her down the steps. “That’s right. We wouldn’t leave our ‘daughter’ alone, would we?” For the first time that evening, Brena felt a faint smile creep onto her face, and she nodded, touched by their kindness. She had never known this kind of casual, unconditional warmth from strangers before. The thought settled somewhere deep inside her, making her feel, for just a moment, like she wasn’t alone. As they made their way down toward the medic’s room, she found herself swallowing back a wave of emotion. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be as lonely as I thought.