𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨

Chapter 31 - The last dance

3rd February 2026
Chloé pov - present

The stadium is buzzing with energy, a hum that fills every inch of the air and settles in my chest. Tonight, Parc Olympique Lyonnais feels alive, thrumming like a heartbeat, its lights shining brighter than ever. It’s my last game here, my last night playing for Lyon, and the fans have turned up in numbers that leave me breathless. The whole world seems to be watching. I’m in the tunnel, lacing my boots with the same care I’ve done since my first game here all those years ago. The routine is the same, the familiar comfort grounding me in this moment that feels almost too big to grasp.

I let out a long breath, glancing at the framed photo in my locker. Mapi and me, side by side in our Barça kits, grinning like we don’t have a care in the world. She’s not here tonight; she’s back in Spain with our kids, but I know she’s watching. They’re all watching. The whistle blows, and we walk out onto the pitch as the stadium roars, the fans on their feet. They chant my name, waving flags, banners, Lyon scarves, all of it. My heart skips a beat, but I swallow the emotion down. Focus on the game, I remind myself. Finish strong. The first half is a blur of quick passes, darting runs, and powerful shots. I’m playing like I did in my twenties, fast and sharp, every movement fueled by muscle memory and years of training.

It’s like my body knows this is the end, and it’s giving me everything it has left. When I finally score, a curling shot from outside the box, the roar from the stands is so loud I can feel it vibrate in my bones. I lift my arms and turn toward the crowd, soaking in every cheer, every chant. My teammates surround me, pulling me into a tight embrace, and I close my eyes, memorizing the feeling of this team around me, of being part of something so much bigger than myself. At halftime, I walk back to the locker room alone for a moment, slipping out of the noise. I check my phone.

Mapi’s sent me a video, and I press play, watching as her face fills the screen, our kids piled onto her lap, all of them in tiny Lyon jerseys. “We’re so proud of you, amor,” she says, her smile soft, her eyes shining. The kids are babbling, calling out, “Mama, go!”
“Mama, win!” I laugh, holding back tears, and send her a quick reply, blowing them all kisses. The second half is intense, the game tighter now, but I’m ready for every tackle, every pass. When the final whistle blows, Lyon has the win, and the crowd erupts again, singing and cheering as the rest of the team rushes toward me.

I’m grinning, laughing, trying to take it all in. I’ve had years of wins, years of goals, but tonight is something different. It’s an ending, and it’s beautiful. Then the ceremony begins. A long red carpet stretches out across the pitch, and they guide me to the center, my heart pounding as I take it all in. My teammates stand in two lines on either side, clapping as I walk past, each one of them reaching out for a quick hug, a pat on the back. The fans are chanting my name, louder and louder, a rhythm that fills the air, fills me. The club president steps forward, holding a framed jersey with my name on it, my number.

It’s beautiful, and I run my fingers over the fabric, a small, disbelieving smile spreading across my face. “Chloé Laurent,” he says, his voice booming across the stadium, “for over a decade, you’ve given your heart and soul to this club. Your goals, your leadership, your unbreakable spirit. You’ve inspired a generation, and you’ve given everything to Lyon. Tonight, we say goodbye, not just to a player, but to a legend.” The crowd erupts, chanting “Chloé, Chloé, Chloé!” I feel the emotion welling up in my chest, thick and overwhelming, and I blink back tears as I step forward to take the microphone.

I don’t have a speech planned. I hadn’t trusted myself to keep it together if I thought too hard about it, so instead, I let the words flow. “This club… it’s been my home,” I begin, my voice a little unsteady. “For years, every goal, every moment on this pitch has been for you. For Lyon.” The fans cheer, and I take a breath, smiling through the tears that threaten to spill. “I don’t know how to put into words what this place means to me. You all have seen me at my best, my worst. You’ve seen my struggles, my triumphs. And you’ve stayed with me. Always.”

I look up at the stands, searching for where I know Mapi and the kids would be if they were here. “I want to thank my family, my teammates, the club, everyone who has supported me, believed in me. And Mapi, amor, I know you’re watching. Thank you for being my constant, my strength. Thank you for everything.” The tears finally come, but I don’t mind. This moment is real, unguarded, and it feels like the perfect way to say goodbye. When I step off the stage, my teammates gather around me, some of them lifting me onto their shoulders, parading me across the pitch as the fans cheer.

I’m laughing, wiping away the last of my tears, waving to the crowd, my heart soaring with gratitude, with pride. These are my people, and this is my home. It always will be. Later, as the stadium empties and I walk the pitch alone, the night air cool and quiet, I feel the weight of the silence settling around me. It’s over. The final whistle has blown, and my time with Lyon has come to an end. But it doesn’t feel like a loss, it feels like a gift. I pull my phone from my pocket and see a new message from Mapi. “We’re so proud of you. We’ll be here when you get home. Now come celebrate with us, legend.”

I smile, my heart warming at the thought of her waiting for me, of our family cheering together in our living room. With one last look at the empty pitch, I whisper, “Thank you,” and I walk away, my heart full, ready for whatever comes next.

Word count: 1078