the world stopped. ━ stargirl
pairings ━ alexia putellas x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader, uswnt x teen!reader
word count ━ 6.1k
summary ━ it’s national break and you take a nasty hit against portugal but alexia can’t get to you.
notes ━ did i make up a fake award? yeah! what are you gonna do about it 🫵🏾 also i don’t remember if i have used header pictures atp so we ball!
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Alexia felt this type of dread she hadn’t felt since the first time you left for national break. It started as a passing thought, a small, quiet what if at the back of her mind before it grew into this looming anxiety that hammered against her chest. She tried to push it down, to distract herself with packing snacks for you or folding your training tops just right, but the feeling kept crawling back up her throat.
You, on the other hand, were a whirlwind of energy. The entire room looked like a sports store had exploded with cleats, hoodies, socks (mismatched, of course), your travel bag half zipped and bulging with snacks you’d stole from Alba’s place everywhere. You were singing something under your breath that suspiciously sounded like a TikTok song, completely unaware of the little storm brewing behind Alexia’s calm face.
“Ale, I’m going to be fine,” you exclaimed, dramatically throwing your hands up as you zipped your bag. “We’ve been doing this for years now! Why are you suddenly acting like I’m off to war?”
Alexia didn’t answer right away, just leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Because sometimes it feels like you’re off to war. Have you seen how Portugal plays?”
You gasped. “Wow. You’re supposed to be diplomatic, Ale. What if Kika hears you?”
“I’ll deny it,” Alexia said flatly.
You snorted, shaking your head as you shoved your charger into the side pocket of your duffle bag. “You’re being weird. Is this because of… you know?”
Her jaw tightened slightly, not angry, not even upset, just thoughtful. From what you’d been told, Alexia and Olga were taking a “break.” It wasn’t a breakup, not exactly. More like… a pause. A weird, quiet, suffocating pause that no one really knew what to do with. Olga was doing a lot of work in Madrid lately, flying back and forth for meetings on top of meetings, but she still called every day without fail.
For you, it was confusing. It felt a little like déjà vu, almost like when Jenni had gone away the first time, and then the second time too. You were younger then, but you remembered how it felt like your world had tilted. You remembered sitting outside Alexia’s bedroom door, pretending you didn’t hear her cry. You remembered being mad at Jenni, refusing to pick up her calls until she took a whole day off just to visit you from Paris and sit on the floor of your room until you stopped sulking.
Now, it was different. You were older, busier, more understanding. But still, you couldn’t shake that same ache. Except this time, it wasn’t Jenni who was gone. It was Olga.
And Alexia didn’t seem as heartbroken as you expected. Maybe that’s what scared you.
Alexia shook her head now, bringing you back to the present. “No, Estrellita. It’s not about that. I just—” she let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of her neck, “—I don’t know. I just have this feeling.”
You gave her a look. “Well, the friendly’s against Portugal, not a zombie apocalypse, so I think we’ll survive. Plus, Kika’s there. And they’re honoring Alex Morgan, so she and Kelley will be in the stands. And they already texted Emma saying they’re kidnapping me after the match for dinner, so you don’t have to worry about me starving to death.”
Alexia’s lips twitched despite herself. Hearing that Alex Morgan would be there did ease some of the tension in her shoulders. Alex had basically adopted you during your first USWNT camp, and Kelley was just as protective. “Okay,” Alexia murmured, finally letting out a breath. “But text me, okay? Before, after, whenever. And call your Àvi. She’s still mad she couldn’t make it to your last game. Said she was going to start sending passive-aggressive texts.”
You laughed, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Sir, yes sir,” you saluted dramatically, complete with a little march toward the door.
Alexia rolled her eyes but her lips curved into a smile. “Let’s get you to camp before I change my mind and lock you in your room.”
“Don’t be rude!” you gasped, feigning betrayal. “You know you’re gonna miss me. You’re gonna sit here, staring out the window, whispering ‘where’s my little estrella’ like a tragic telenovela character.”
“I’m not doing that,” Alexia said dryly, grabbing your passports off the counter before you could forget it for the third time.
“You did it last time!” you accused, pointing dramatically. “I heard you! Vicky recorded you! You were talking to a dog!”
“I was not talking to the dog.”
“You called him ‘little Estrella,’ Ale.”
“That was a joke.”
“It was not a joke!” you laughed, ducking away when she tried to swat you with your jacket. “You even said, ‘she would’ve laughed at this movie, right, Estrella?’”
Alexia was trying not to smile, but you saw it. You grinned triumphantly. “See? You’re going to miss me so bad. Admit it.”
“I will miss the peace and quiet,” she deadpanned.
You gasped again, hand over your heart. “Cruel and heartless? I see how it is.”
But when you got to the door, she caught you by the arm, pulling you into a tight hug. You melted into it immediately, cheek pressed to her shoulder, breathing in the familiar warmth.
“Just… be careful, okay?” she murmured into your hair. “Play smart. And don’t let Kika talk you into anything stupid after.”
You grinned against her shirt. “So no rooftop dancing after curfew?”
Alexia groaned. “You’re going to give me gray hair before I’m forty.”
You pulled back with a smirk. “You already have some.”
“Out.”
“Fine, fine!” you giggled, grabbing your bag and running toward the door. “Love you, Ale!”
“Love you, trouble,” she called back, shaking her head with a helpless smile.
And as you left, dragging your suitcase behind you, still humming that TikTok song, Alexia stood in the doorway for a moment, arms folded, watching until you disappeared down the hall.
The dread was still there, quiet and stubborn. But so was the pride, the same pride she felt every time you wore that crest on your chest and Putellas across your back.
And she couldn’t help but smile as she whispered to herself, “She’s going to be just fine.”
“Hello, New York!” you yelled dramatically, one hand thrown in the air as you strutted toward the USWNT training facility, the other holding up a peace sign to the camera following beside you. The poor social media intern behind the lens was already giggling as Alyssa Thompson and Lily Yohannes walked on either side of you, both clearly trying and failing not to laugh.
You tilted your sunglasses down just enough to smirk into the camera. “I’ve been waiting to say that since they announced camp. I was born for this moment,” you declared proudly, your accent making it sound even more ridiculous.
Lily blinked slowly, her face deadpan. “You know we’re in Pennsylvania, right?”
You froze mid step. Like, completely froze. Alyssa nearly crashed into you and had to catch herself, holding your arm for balance.
“…What?” you asked, eyes wide.
Alyssa grinned, trying not to burst out laughing. “We’re in Pennsylvania, Estrella. Like, Chester, Pennsylvania and hours away from New York.”
There was a beat of silence as the camera zoomed in slightly, catching the slow, dawning horror on your face.
“Are you serious?” you finally said, looking between them like they were playing a prank. “No, because no one told me that! I literally said ‘see you in New York’ to Emma yesterday!”
Lily was already shaking her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Maybe no more headers for you,” she teased. “You might have concussed yourself again, friend.”
Alyssa was laughing full force now, doubling over. “You’ve been calling this New York camp all week! You even posted a story on close friends like, ‘New York, baby!’ with sparkles and the Empire State emoji! I thought you were joking!”
You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “I’m just here to play football! Not to memorize maps!”
“Basic geography,” Lily corrected with a teasing tone, and you shot her a glare.
“Don’t start with me, Yohannes,” you warned, wagging a finger in her direction. “You think you’re so smart with your fancy directions and your accurate knowledge of the East Coast!”
Lily blinked again, feigning innocence. “I just know what state we’re in.”
“Exactly! Nerd behavior!” you shot back, walking ahead with dramatic flair. “I’m not dealing with this. Some of us are artists! Dreamers! Athletes of passion!”
Alyssa was practically crying from laughter now, holding her stomach. “You mean idiots?”
You spun around on your heel, walking backward as the camera followed. “Say what you want, Thompson, but when they make the movie about my life, this scene is going in it. Hello, New York!” you repeated in an exaggerated movie trailer voice, complete with wind blowing your curls back.
Lily and Alyssa lost it again, their laughter echoing down the path.
The poor social media intern filming had to stop walking for a second because the camera was shaking too much from their own laughter.
“Honestly, they should revoke your passport,” Lily said between laughs.
You tossed your hands up. “Good! Less chance of me embarrassing myself in another country!”
“Too late for that,” Alyssa giggled, nudging you as you walked back toward the facility. “I’m tagging you when that video goes up.”
You groaned loudly, muttering in Catalan, “maleïda sigui la meva vida,” which only made them laugh harder.
“Translation, please?” Lily asked, smirking.
“Nothing,” you said too quickly.
Alyssa grinned. “I think it means, ‘I love my brilliant friends who are always right about geography.’”
You shot her a look, then stomped dramatically toward the building, muttering curses under your breath. “You’re all so mean to me. I’m a victim. A victim of lies and deceit!”
And somewhere behind you, Lily’s voice carried down the hallway, “No, Estrella. Just geography.”
They always say that when you come close to death, the human brain replays its best memories for seven minutes. You didn’t feel that though. There was no cinematic montage of laughter or warmth, no flashes of home, no slow motion replay of the people you loved most. So you suppose that was a good sign.
Everything felt like a blur, like the world had been smeared with motion and out of focus. You remembered shaking hands with Portugal after warm ups, laughing when Kika playfully shoved you, the buzz of the crowd in your chest like a living heartbeat. You remembered stepping up to present the Kopa Féminin award you’d won to the American fans, your fans, and the roar that filled the stadium when you lifted it high. You remembered the tribute for Alex, the one the federation had organized to honor her years of service with the national team. You stood beside her, clapping until your palms ached, eyes glassy as she waved to the crowd. That part you remembered.
You didn’t start that game. Emma had told you the day before that she wanted to rest you a bit. “You’ve been running nonstop, Stargirl,” she’d said, soft but firm. You pouted, of course, but you agreed. You sat on the bench, legs bouncing, watching the minutes tick by as Portugal began to press harder, the U.S. struggling to hold possession.
Then, around the 60th minute, Emma turned. “Warm up. You’re going in.”
You grinned, sprinting down the sideline, feeling the adrenaline start to pump through your veins. The team needed fresh legs and fresh fire. That’s what you were there for.
And from what you were told later, that fire had lit up the field.
You came on, turned the tempo, clawed the team back into it. By your fifth minute, you had equalized the game. You’d been chasing the goal to put the team ahead for ten solid minutes when Rose spotted you cutting through two defenders. She launched the ball into the air, high, perfect.
You jumped… and that’s the last thing you remember.
They said a Portuguese defender went up behind you, mistimed the challenge, and slammed into your back midair. They said you didn’t even have time to brace yourself before your body hit the turf, head first, shoulder twisting under your weight. They said your neck snapped forward, then back again. That you didn’t move, not even once.
You didn’t remember the sound of bodies hitting the ground near you as your teammates rushed in.
You didn’t remember the look on Kika’s face when she realized you weren’t getting up.
You didn’t remember the way Alyssa screamed your name, or how Rose dropped to her knees beside you, shaking your arm.
You didn’t remember the crowd falling silent—tens of thousands of people holding their breath all at once.
You didn’t remember any of it.
What you did remember was the ringing. The kind that sits inside your skull, deep and hollow, like an alarm that doesn’t stop. The bright lights above you burning white through your eyelids. A voice, well several voices, actually, but all distant, warped, as if underwater.
The pain wasn’t sharp at first, but dull and heavy. It started at your shoulder, then spread into your chest, up the side of your neck, behind your eyes. A kind of pain that made you want to crawl out of your own body.
You blinked slowly, the world swimming into view. You saw faces, though they didn’t look real. Shapes that could’ve been your teammates, or strangers, or ghosts. You couldn’t tell.
You heard your name, muffled and desperate.
“Estrella.”
Then again, louder. “Estrella, hey—hey, look at me.”
Your eyes tried to focus, and that’s when you saw her—Alex. Her face was pale, eyes wide with something between fear and fury. Kelley was right beside her, jaw tight, voice low as she talked to one of the medics. You blinked again, trying to make sense of it all.
“Shit,” Kelley muttered under her breath. “We need to call Alexia.”
Alex moved closer, crouching beside the stretcher as they checked your vitals. Her hand hovered near your arm, unsure if she was allowed to touch you yet.
“Estrella, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Can you hear me?”
You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a weak exhale. You weren’t sure if you were speaking or just breathing. Everything was too bright, too loud, too fast.
Someone shouted something about a concussion protocol. Someone else mentioned your shoulder. Then the stretcher moved, and you felt the world tilt sideways, your stomach lurching as they carried you off the pitch.
You caught glimpses of things. You didn’t remember at first but it hit you when you think back now. Rose standing there with her hands over her mouth. Catarina crying into Emily’s shoulder.
Kika, on the edge of the group, frozen, her lips moving like she was praying.
You wanted to tell them you were fine. That you’d just slipped. That you’d get up in a second. But you couldn’t move.
In the tunnel, it was chaos. The medics talking rapidly, Alex and Kelley pushing past staff to stay with you. Someone trying to ask you questions, your name, what day it was, who the president was. The words blurred together like static.
“Hey, you’re going to be okay, Stargirl,” Kelley said quietly, pacing near the stretcher. She kept glancing toward you like if she looked away, you might disappear again.
And in that cold, sterile room, as the medics worked, you just stared at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights flickered, your body trembled, and for the first time in a long time, you were scared. Not of the pain, not of the injury, but of the nothingness.
Because when people say your life flashes before your eyes, they don’t tell you what it means when it doesn’t. When the only thing you feel is emptiness. When the only thing you hear is the faint echo of your own heartbeat, fading in and out, fighting to stay steady.
And in that moment—barely conscious, the sound of Alex’s voice breaking somewhere near your ear—you realized just how close you’d come to disappearing.
While your recollection of the events was completely fuzzy, Alexia remembered every second in perfect, brutal detail.
She remembered the living room lights dimmed, the TV glow flickering against the faces of half the Barça squad gathered together for the friendly. It was supposed to be a quiet night with pizza boxes open on the coffee table, Vicky sprawled across the floor, Jenni perched beside Alexia on the couch, all of them cheering for you like they always did.
You’d been electric that game, moving with that wild rhythm only you had. You had a certain confidence paired with an unpredictable brilliance that made even defenders freeze for half a heartbeat too long. Alexia and Jenni sat shoulder to shoulder, both on edge, both whispering small prayers that you wouldn’t overdo it like always.
“Come on, diablita,” Jenni muttered, elbows pressed to her knees as she watched the screen. You juked the Portuguese defender clean, sent her stumbling, and then a flick, and the ball slid perfectly into the bottom corner.
The room erupted. Alexia jumped to her feet, cheering so loud her voice cracked, grinning like she couldn’t contain herself. “Sí! Eso, mi niña!”
You did one of your favorite celebrations, that stupid, cocky grin, the way you used sign language to talk a little shit before your teammates crashed into you in a wave of hugs.
Jenni was laughing, clapping, yelling, “That’s my girl! My little diabla!” while Vicky practically screamed into the couch cushion with Jana and Salma.
Alexia’s chest was burning with pride as her eyes stung with wannabe tears. She was so proud of you, so impossibly proud.
But that joy, that lightness, was gone less than ten minutes later. For Alexia, it was like the world slipped underwater. The jump. The collision. The sound—the awful sound the TV amplified—of you hitting the ground and not getting up.
It was as if the whole world held its breath. On the TV, your body lay still, one arm bent awkwardly beneath you.
Jenni’s laughter died instantly. Vicky froze mid sentence. No one moved.
Alexia’s heart dropped so hard she thought it might’ve stopped completely.
The commentary cut through the silence, cold and clinical. “Estrella seems to be unresponsive.”
Alexia didn’t move, hell she couldn’t breathe.
On screen, Kika sprinted to your side, kneeling, gently shaking your shoulder, her face pale and panicked. Other players gathered fast, teammates and even opponents forming a wall around you to keep the cameras from zooming in.
The room in Spain went dead quiet as they watched the sight.
“Get up, get up, get up,” Jenni whispered beside her, voice breaking.
Vicky had her head buried in her hands, whispering prayers under her breath. Jana’s jaw was clenched, her leg bouncing, eyes locked on the TV like she could will you awake.
Alexia just stared. Her fingers dug into her knees so hard her knuckles turned white.
She didn’t notice the tears until Jenni reached for her hand, squeezing gently.
“Are you okay?” Jenni whispered.
Alexia didn’t answer, she couldn’t. Her throat had closed up. She could only shake her head, her eyes still glued to the image of the stretcher being rushed out onto the field.
When she finally managed to speak, it came out in a rasp. “Please, please, move. Just move.”
You didn’t. It felt like hours before the medics lifted you onto the stretcher, your arm limp at your side, your head secured in place. Alexia’s stomach turned. She felt physically sick.
Her phone buzzed on the table beside her, and she snatched it up so fast it nearly flew from her hands.
“Hola?” she answered, voice trembling.
“Alexia?” came a familiar voice.
Her heart stopped again. “Alex? Alex Morgan?”
“Yeah,” Alex’s voice was low, tired, heavy. “I’m with her right now. We’re in the medical bay.”
Alexia’s voice cracked. “Is she okay? Tell me she’s okay.”
There was a pause. Then a sigh. “I have to be honest, it doesn’t look so good right now.”
The air left Alexia’s lungs.
“She’s awake,” Alex continued carefully, “but she’s… confused. She didn’t recognize me or Kelley and I think we’re still fuzzy for her. Medics said grade three concussion, possible shoulder injury. The turf burned up her face pretty bad. She’s in imaging now. CT, X-ray, the whole deal.”
Alexia pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, her vision blurring.
Jenni reached for her other hand, squeezing, whispering, “Respira, Lex. Respira.”
But she couldn’t. Her chest hurt too much and her whole body was shaking.
“She doesn’t remember me?” she finally choked out.
“Not yet. It’s all temporary,” Alex said, her own voice cracking now. “They think she blacked out before she hit the ground. She’ll need time.”
Alexia’s tears came fast, hot and silent. She didn’t even try to hide them.
“Alright,” she said weakly, “I’ll… I’ll talk to my coach. I’ll leave camp, get the next flight. Just—”
“Alexia,” Alex interrupted gently, “you don’t have to do this alone. We all know how the RFEF is. Everyone here loves her. If I need to bring her home myself, I will.”
Alexia nodded, swallowing hard even though Alex couldn’t see it. “Please, call me when she’s out.”
When she hung up, the room was watching her. All wide, wet eyes and shaking hands.
Alexia took a deep, shaky breath and forced the words out. “Grade three concussion, possible shoulder injury. Turf got her face, bad. She’s awake but confused.”
The collective wince that followed made her chest hurt even more.
“She’s gonna be pissed about the turf burn,” Vicky croaked through tears. The small, broken attempt at humor earned a weak laugh from a few of them.
“Remember when she scraped her ankle and stole crutches from the physio?” Jana added, voice trembling. “Said she was dying.”
Alexia’s phone rang again, and she didn’t even have to check before answering. “Olga?”
“Alexia?” Olga’s voice was sharp, panicked. “Is she okay? I got a notification about a player injury and then people started messaging me—”
Alexia sank down into a chair, pressing a hand over her face. “It’s bad, but she’s stable. Grade three concussion, shoulder maybe dislocated or fractured.”
“Fuck,” Olga whispered. “How long is she out?”
Alexia hesitated. “Concussions like this… months, maybe. Depends on recovery. Alex said she’s suffering from amnesia. She didn’t know who anyone was for a bit.”
“Fuck,” Olga repeated, her voice cracking. “She’s in Pennsylvania, right? She told me New York but that didn’t sound right.”
“Yeah, it is. But it’s fine, Olga. I can—”
“No,” Olga said firmly. “I don’t care what’s happening on with us, but Estrella is my kid too.”
Alexia closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “You’re right,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Olga said through what sounded like tears. “I’m catching the next flight out. Just—please, Lex, don’t spiral. Don’t start thinking it’s your fault. She’s strong. She’ll be okay.”
Alexia didn’t answer right away. Her jaw trembled. “I’ll tell Mami. Maybe she’ll come with you.”
“Text me,” Olga said before hanging up.
When the call ended, Alexia just sat there, staring at the floor. Jenni rested a hand on her shoulder, Vicky was still crying quietly, and the match replayed in silence on the muted TV.
Her little girl, her wild, fiery, impossible Estrellita, was lying in some sterile hospital room thousands of miles away.
And for the first time in a long time, Alexia Putellas couldn’t do a damn thing to fix it.
The first thing you felt was pain. Unfortunately it wasn’t a dull pain or the kind you could push past, but a sharp, burning ache that screamed through every nerve ending in your body. Your head pounded with each heartbeat, your vision flickered in and out of focus, and the light above you felt like it was splitting your skull open.
You tried to move and instantly regretted it, a cry tearing from your throat as your shoulder screamed in protest.
“Hijo de puta,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.
There was a sharp inhale beside you, followed by a quiet, breaking voice. “Estrella.”
You blinked, trying to place it. The figure hovering beside your bed was blurry at first, then slowly came into focus. Dark hair, tired eyes rimmed red, hand clutching yours so tight it hurt.
“Olga?” you croaked.
She nodded quickly, tears spilling before she could stop them. “Hey, nena.” Her hand smoothed over your curls like muscle memory. “You’re okay. You’re okay, amor. The painkillers should kick in soon.”
You looked around, disoriented. The beeping of the monitor, the sterile white walls, the dull hum of the hospital room. None of it made sense.
“What happened?” you whispered. “Everything hurts. Where are we?”
Olga’s bottom lip trembled, but she forced a smile. “We’re in Philadelphia. You took a bad hit against Portugal, remember? It’s okay if you don’t, the doctor said your memory might be foggy for a couple of days.”
You frowned, wincing as the movement tugged at your shoulder. “I don’t remember… anything.”
Olga exhaled shakily, brushing a thumb under your eye like she could wipe the confusion away. “You have a concussion, mi amor. A pretty bad one. And your shoulder, it’s a grade two AC separation.”
You stared at her blankly. “I don’t… understand.”
“It’s alright,” she said softly, her voice cracking as she smoothed your curls again. “You don’t have to right now.”
Before you could respond, the door opened.
“Oh, mi Estrellita!” a familiar voice cried, full of warmth and heartbreak all at once. Eli stood there, her arms full of food she’d no doubt brought because she couldn’t just sit still. Alba was right behind her, looking like she hadn’t slept in a day.
You squinted at them, the names forming slowly in your foggy head. Then your face lit up. “Àvi! Alba!”
Eli’s eyes welled with tears. “Sí, cariño.” She leaned down to kiss your forehead, whispering something soft in Catalan that made your chest ache. Alba did the same, squeezing your hand gently before sitting down.
“How are you feeling?” Alba asked quietly.
You looked down at your arm, confused at the sling holding it tight to your chest. “I’m not sure. My head feels so… fuzzy.”
Eli nodded, trying to smile through her worry. “The doctor said it might be like that for a bit, cariño.”
The painkillers were already pulling at you, softening your focus. Your eyelids grew heavier. “Where’s my Mami?” you murmured, slurring slightly.
The room went still. Olga froze and Alba’s eyes darted to Eli’s.
Eli hesitated. “Who is your Mami, mi amor?” she asked gently, as though afraid of the answer.
You blinked, groggy but certain. “Who else? Alexia? La Reina? Your sister, her daughter, and her ex.”
Olga inhaled sharply. It was instinctive like a reaction she couldn’t stop. Her eyes flooded again, but this time the tears burned hotter. You didn’t remember her. Not really. Somewhere in that scrambled haze of your mind, she wasn’t there. Not as your mother, not as your constant. Just Alexia.
You let out a tired little huff, still unaware of the devastation you’d caused with one sleepy, drugged sentence. “I want my Mami,” you mumbled, your voice small, breaking a little at the edges. Then your eyes fluttered shut, and you were gone again, pulled under by the medication and exhaustion.
The room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor.
Eli looked down, whispering a quiet prayer under her breath. Alba reached over to squeeze Olga’s hand, but it did nothing to stop the quiet sob that finally escaped her lips.
She bent forward, pressing her hands to her eyes, shoulders trembling.
“She doesn’t remember,” Olga whispered, voice wrecked. “She doesn’t remember me.”
Alba rubbed her back gently. “She will. It’s the concussion, Olguita. It’s temporary.”
But Olga didn’t hear her. Her mind was spiraling. All she could think about was every moment. Every scraped knee she’d bandaged, every night she’d stayed up comforting Estrella after a nightmare, every time she’d kissed her forehead before a match. All of it, wiped away by one fall, one hit.
Her daughter—their daughter—looked right at her and didn’t see her.
Across the ocean, Alexia was pacing her living room in Barcelona, the game still replaying in her head. She’d watched the collision live, the way your body hit the ground limp, motionless. The sound the commentators made. The way her heart stopped when the medical team sprinted out. She hadn’t breathed until she saw your fingers twitch.
Now her phone buzzed with updates from Alba: She was awake but the painkillers did their job. Will call later. And then, one from Olga: She doesn’t remember me.
Alexia sank to the floor. She didn’t even know what to say back.
Back in Philadelphia, Olga stayed by your bed through the night. She didn’t sleep. Eli dozed off in the chair by the window, Alba curled up with a blanket, but Olga couldn’t move. Every time your monitors beeped, her heart jumped. Every time you twitched or murmured in your sleep, she reached for your hand.
She sat there replaying the words over and over—I want my Mami. Olga couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, deep down, she wasn’t enough.
Like much of your life lately, you don’t remember how you got there. Everything was a blur. Like light and sound, memory and feeling, all crashing and dissolving into something that didn’t make sense. The only thing that did was the warmth of two strong arms around you, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat pressed to your ear, and the low sound of someone mumbling prayers in Catalan.
“Mami?” you asked groggily, your voice small and cracked, half-lost between dream and reality. For a second, you thought you were still on the plane. The hum of the car engine sounded like the engine of the jet, the cool air brushing your face felt too familiar. But then you blinked, and the blur sharpened into the outline of your building’s parking lot.
“Mami!”
Alexia’s arms tightened instantly. She didn’t say anything at first. She just held you, her lips trembling as they pressed over and over again to your forehead. “Estàs bé, petita, estàs bé,” she whispered, over and over, like a prayer she was afraid to stop saying. [You’re okay, little one, you’re okay.]
You melted into her, tears stinging your eyes before you even realized you were crying. “I was so scared when I woke up,” you sobbed, the words tumbling out between shaky breaths. “My head and my shoulder, everything hurt and I didn’t know where I was or what happened—”
Alexia shushed you gently, her voice soft but unsteady. “Shh, I know, mi amor. I know.”
You felt her arms shift beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing, and suddenly you were being carried again. Your cheek pressed against her shoulder, her scent grounding you in the haze. She walked quickly through the lobby, murmuring something to the doorman you couldn’t hear, then into the elevator, still whispering Catalan words into your hair like they could protect you.
“It’s alright, petita,” she murmured. “You’re safe. I promise.”
That word, petita, cracked something open in you. You hadn’t heard it in so long, not like that. It was what she used to call you when you were little, when nightmares woke you up and she’d scoop you into her lap until you fell asleep again. And now, in this moment, you felt small all over again, clinging to her like she was the only thing that tethered you to the world. Like you were seven years old again.
Alexia had already cried herself empty once at the airport, when she saw you for the first time. You had been asleep, slumped in a wheelchair between Eli and Alba, your arm bound in a sling, a faint bruise across your cheek. The moment she saw you, her chest had collapsed in on itself. You were home. You were safe. But you looked so fragile, so far away from the fierce, fire-eyed girl she’d raised. She couldn’t hold back the sob that tore out of her. Eli had just placed a hand on her shoulder, whispering, “She’s alright now, Ale.”
Now, in the apartment, Alexia laid you down on the couch, trying to slip away just long enough to get you a glass of water. But the second she stepped back, you whimpered, your good hand clutching at her sleeve. “Don’t go,” you whispered, voice trembling.
She froze, the sound of it cutting straight through her. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised immediately, dropping back down beside you and pulling you into her chest. You were shaking, breathing fast, the tears coming again without warning.
“My head feels so weird,” you murmured, your voice muffled against her shirt. “Everything’s… mixed up. Sometimes I remember stuff, and then it’s gone again. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Alexia stroked your hair gently, her own throat tightening. “You’re not losing your mind,” she said quietly. “You just need time. It’s normal after what happened.”
You nodded, but it didn’t help. The confusion, the flashes of memory, the emptiness where pieces of your life should’ve been, it scared you. You hated not remembering. You hated how easily your thoughts slipped away.
“Everything felt so loud, Mami,” you whispered after a while. “The hospital. The lights. The questions. I couldn’t even remember your face for a while.” Your voice cracked. “I tried so hard, but I couldn’t.”
Alexia felt her chest seize. She pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “It’s okay, estrella,” she murmured. “You don’t have to remember everything right now. You’re here, with me. That’s enough.”
You shook your head weakly. “It’s not. I hate feeling like this. I hate not knowing. I keep waking up thinking I’m still there, still on the field, still falling.” Your voice broke into another sob. “And then I see the lights and I can’t breathe because I think it’s happening again.”
Alexia swallowed hard, her eyes burning. “I know, baby. I know.”
You lifted your head just enough to look at her, tears spilling freely now. “I thought I was gonna die,” you admitted, the words barely a whisper. “I don’t even remember hitting the ground, I just remember waking up and no one I knew was there. Alex was, but it wasn’t you. It wasn’t home.”
That was it. Alexia’s tears broke free again, slipping silently down her cheeks as she cupped the side of your face. “I should’ve been there,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I should’ve gone.”
You shook your head, your hand finding hers. “You didn’t have to. You always come for me, Mami. You always do. You don’t have to be there the second it happens. I knew you’d come.”
For a long moment, the apartment was quiet except for your uneven breathing and the sound of the rain starting outside.
Alexia’s fingers brushed the side of your face softly, tracing over the faint bruise there. “You scared me so much,” she whispered. “Do you know that? Seeing you go down like that…every second until I heard from Alex felt like years.”
You exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ever be sorry for that,” she said, her voice breaking. “Just… promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Promise me you’ll rest.”
You nodded, eyes heavy now, exhaustion creeping back in. “I promise,” you whispered.
Alexia tucked you closer, your head against her chest. She stayed there long after your breathing evened out, her hand still stroking your hair, whispering prayers in Catalan into the silence.
Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, Alexia held you like she used to. And finally, the storm in your head quieted just enough to let you sleep restfully.
