I didn't want to come back to training yet. I wasn't ready- emotionally or physically. But Jonas had been understanding, and though he hadn't pushed, I knew the team needed me. We had important matches coming up, and the longer I stayed away, the harder it would be to return.

Still, as I walked into the training ground that morning, a heavy weight settled in my chest. The familiar buzz of activity around me felt distant, like I was watching through a fog. Everything had changed so quickly since my father's death, and it seemed like my mind hadn't caught up to it all.

My body moved on autopilot-changing into my gear, lacing up her boots, stepping onto the pitch. It wasn't long before I noticed her hands trembling. I shoved them into my pockets, forcing myself to breathe steadily.

"Focus," I whisper to myself, standing at the edge of the training field.

Caitlin was already out there, stretching near the goalpost. When her eyes met mine across the field, she gave a small nod of acknowledgment, but nothing more. I appreciated the subtlety. I wasn't sure if I could handle pity or concern right now.

The first few drills went by in a blur. My mind was far from the game, lost in the sea of thoughts I hadn't fully processed. Every sprint felt heavier than the last, every touch of the ball unsteady. I felt like I was moving through quicksand.

As we transitioned to partner drills, I found myself paired with Caitlin. The tension between us had faded slightly in the wake of everything that had happened, but there was still an underlying awkwardness. Caitlin hadn't brought up our argument since they had returned from my dad's house, and I hadn't offered much in terms of conversation either. The distance between us still hung in the air, unspoken.

Caitlin passes the ball to me with an easy tap, her expression unreadable.

"You okay?" she asks, her voice low so that only I could hear.

I forced a nod, avoiding Caitlin's gaze. "Yeah, just tired."

I knew Caitlin didn't believe me, but I was grateful Caitlin didn't press. We worked through the drills, Caitlin's presence quietly grounding me, even if I wasn't fully admitting it. Whenever I fumbled the ball, Caitlin would retrieve it without a word, resetting the drill with patience and precision.

Halfway through practice, during a particularly grueling set of passing drills, my focus wavered again. I misjudged a ball, my body stumbling as I tried to recover. I felt my knees buckle, exhaustion mixed with the mental strain I had been carrying all week. Before I could hit the ground, Caitlin was there, a steady hand catching me by the arm.

"Got you," Caitlin mutters, holding me upright.

I blink, dazed for a moment, my breath shallow as I steady myself. Caitlin's grip is firm, reassuring. I pull away, embarrassed by my own clumsiness.

"Thanks," I mumble, my cheeks flushed with frustration. I hate feeling weak, hate the vulnerability creeping up on me.

Caitlin doesn't say anything, just gives a small nod, her expression soft with understanding. There was no judgment, just quiet support.

Later, during a water break, I sat on the sidelines, wiping sweat from my brow. My body felt heavy, my mind clouded with everything that had happened.I take a slow sip from my water bottle, but my hands shake slightly, betraying my emotions.

Caitlin sits down next to me, just close enough to offer silent comfort. She doesn't push me to talk, doesn't ask any questions. Instead, she hands me a fresh water bottle without saying a word. I accept it, the gesture small but meaningful.

"Jonas is going to go over the final drills soon," Caitlin says quietly, her tone casual. "But if you're not feeling it, you could skip the rest of the session. No one's going to push you right now."

I shake my head, my throat tight. "I need to be here."

Caitlin nods, understanding. "Alright. But you don't have to do everything alone, you know."

It's a simple sentence, but it strikes something deep inside me. I glance at Caitlin, who's staring out at the field, her expression calm but full of concern. Caitlin's offering me space to feel what I need to feel, without any expectations. It isn't about fixing anything or even talking about it-it's just about being there, quietly, reliably.

The final drill of the day was intense, focused on quick movement and fast decision-making. I could feel my body protesting, my mind lagging behind my feet. I was on the verge of calling it quits when the whistle blew, signaling the start of the next play.

Caitlin was across from me, moving with her usual speed and grace. I tried to match her pace, but my energy was quickly draining. As Caitlin cut around a defender, the ball was passed to mw, a clean cross meant for mw to control and finish. But my reaction was slow, and the ball slipped past mw.

I cursed under my breath, my frustration boiling over. I knew my teammates noticed my slip, but no one said anything. They all knew I was off today.

Caitlin jogs over, offering a soft smile. "Hey, don't worry about it. It's just training."

I exhale sharply, pushing my hair back from
my sweaty forehead. "I should've had that."

"You've got a lot going on, Elena," Caitlin replies gently. "It's okay to not be perfect right now."

I open my mouth to argue, but stop. I'm tired. Tired of pretending everything is fine, tired of holding myself together when all I wanted was to let go. Caitlin's words settled over mw , a quiet reassurance I didn't know I needed.

"I just... I feel like I'm not really here, you know?" I admit, my voice low and strained. "I can't focus. Everything's just... too much."

Caitlin steps closer, her eyes searching mine. "You're here, Els. Maybe not fully, but you showed up. And that's enough for today."

I swallow hard, my emotions rising to the surface again. I don't know what to say, so I just nod, my eyes stinging. For a moment, I feel a flicker of relief, knowing I didn't have to carry it all alone.

As the session wrapped up, Caitlin lingered by my side, the unspoken support clear between us. I hadn't realized how much ai needed that steady presence, the quiet reassurance that Caitlin provided. It was like a lifeline, something to hold onto when the weight of everything else felt unbearable.

As we walked off the pitch together, Caitlin glanced at mw with a small, knowing smile. "We can head out together if you want."

I hesitate, but then nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."

We leave the training ground side by side, our steps falling into an easy rhythm. I still feel heavy, but there was a lightness too-a small glimmer of something lifting, slowly but surely.

Dear Mum,

It's been really hard after hearing Dad died and cleaning out the house I had to grow up in without you. I'm trying to pretend like it isn't affecting me because it shouldn't-I've spent the last few years of my life without him, after all. But for some reason, it still does.

Maybe it's not just losing him, but losing that part of my past entirely. The house, the memories, the place where I used to imagine you sitting, watching over me. It feels like I'm closing the final chapter of that part of my life, and that's hitting harder than I expected. I thought I had already grieved losing him a long time ago, but now... now it feels fresh again.

Caitlin's been here for me. We're not together again-not yet, anyway-but she's been there, quietly helping me through it. I don't know how I'd be handling this without her. She seems to know exactly when I need someone, even when I don't ask. She doesn't push, but she makes it clear that I don't have to carry this weight on my own.

Sometimes, I catch myself wondering if you somehow sent her my way, knowing I'd need someone like her in my life. I don't know if we'll ever get back to where we were, but right now, I'm just grateful to have her close again.

I hope you'd have liked her. I think you would.

Love,
Elena