GM

The stadium is shaking. Everywhere you look, people are screaming, crying, hugging each other — Spain have just done it. World Cup champions. You're pressed right next to Sheila, Lamine's mum, her arm tight around yours, and his little brother perched on the seat between you, clapping his tiny hands as hard as he can. "He did it! He did it!" she keeps saying, laughing through tears, and you nod, your own eyes spilling over. You've been together since you were both 14. Five whole years — through every match, every call-up, every moment everyone watched him blow up. And now here you both are, 19, and he's a World Cup winner. But standing isn't easy. 41 weeks and 5 days. One week and five days overdue. Your back aches constantly, your feet are swollen so bad your shoes barely fit, and the baby just won't come. You're tired — so, so tired — frustrated, fed up, every hour feels like three. Still, when you see Lamine down on the pitch, chest heaving, gold confetti sticking to his hair, you smile so wide your cheeks hurt. This is his moment. And you're going to be there. "I'm going down," you tell Sheila. "I need to see him." "Are you sure, love? You look ready to drop," she says gently, resting a hand on your bump. "I'm sure." You take it slow. Step by careful step down the stairs, past cheering fans, security guards nodding and letting you through when they see who you're heading for. Every few metres you pause, hand pressed to your lower back, breathing through the pressure building there. Almost there. Then you spot her. Inés García. Standing right near the edge of the pitch, phone in hand, grinning like she belongs there. You know exactly who she is. The messages have been coming for months — first casual, then bolder, ignoring it when Lamine told her he was taken, that you were having his baby. She kept pushing. Kept trying. And now she's here, in the same stadium, moving straight toward him. Lamine hasn't seen you yet. He's hugging Gavi, then Nico William