Three dots blinked. Paused. Blinked again.
Just… be careful, okay?
Men like him don’t like being called out. Especially not by women who don’t swoon at their cleats.
I didn’t respond right away. Just picked up my tea, sipping slowly, letting the warmth settle in my chest.
Quite frankly, I couldn't be bothered to care right now.
By the time I left Honey & Hearth, the sun was low, casting long shadows over the sidewalk and turning the storefront windows gold. I walked the few blocks home, tea in one hand, second danish in the other, and let the quiet calm settle around me—brief, fleeting peace before whatever storm was brewing online.
My apartment was on the third floor of an old brick building with creaky stairs, thin walls, and neighbors who argued loudly about Jeopardy reruns. Inside, it was warm and lived-in: worn couch, overflowing bookshelves, throw blankets I never folded. A few of my old soccer medals hung on the wall above my desk—not out of ego, just nostalgia. Framed photos lined the shelves: me and Mom in matching beanies at a Storm game ten years ago, Grandpa in his military uniform, unsmiling but proud, flanked by the flag he never let touch the ground. The scent of vanilla from the candle I blew out this morning lingered faintly in the air.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. My little corner of the world where I could breathe… at least until I opened Twitter.
I told myself it was just to check a headline. Maybe catch a cute dog video.
Big lie.
I was trending.
Not like “new feature piece went viral” trending.
Like… headline on fire, public opinion combusting trending.
#WalkerHater.
Oh no.
I stared at the hashtag like it might disappear if I blinked hard enough. It did not.
The top tweet had over twenty thousand likes and featured a slowed-down clip of me sipping coffee with the caption:
“when you casually end a man’s career on national television ???? #WalkerHater”
One user made a full-on TikTok remix—me calling Kieren Walker a “defensive fossil with a god complex” set to Beyoncé’s “Run the World (Girls).” It was honestly… kind of a bop.
Soccer Twitter had officially lost its collective mind. The comment sections were a war zone.
“She said what we’re all thinking. Facts are facts.”
“This brat doesn’t know anything about the game. Stick to fashion, sweetheart.”
“Kieren Walker could run me over with a cleat and I’d say thank you.”
“Not her coming for the king with a lip gloss and a latte.”
I scrolled. I laughed. I died a little inside.
My phone buzzed with a new notification: a DM request from someone with a Storm FC logo in their profile.
I opened it.
Just a single skull emoji.
No context. No message. Just death.
Another buzz. This time a text from my boss.
