Her own career was taking off, her articles gaining a wider audience, her voice becoming a respected, authoritative presence in the world of football journalism. She was a star on the rise, and I was so, so proud of her.
And yet, she was always there for me, a constant, unwavering source of support, a love, a sanity in the mad, chaotic, beautiful world I inhabited. She was my rock, my anchor, my everything.
"You're doing something special, you know," she said, her voice soft, her eyes full of a quiet, unassuming pride. "The media is calling it the 'Golden Generation.' The fans are dreaming again. You've given them hope."
I smiled, a small, tired smile. "It's not me. It's them. The players. The staff. You. All of you." She reached across the table and took my hand, her touch a gentle, grounding presence.
