Chapter Text
The thing is, Steph knew what would happen. She knew she wouldn't be getting called up, even before Sarina knew it herself. She was too old, too tired, too everything Sarina's team was not.
She expected it, she prepared for it, she opened herself up to what she knew was inevitable.
It still hurt.
Still hurt to see her friend's names on that list, hear their excited voices in her answerphone, listen to their euphoric interviews, and knowing she doesn't get that.
It hurts when Jill Scott rings her up, excited and screaming that this could be it! They could do it! That she thinks they have a chance this year. That, although Jill's retired, Steph could still reach their dream. Steph almost doesn't tell her, but she knows what it's like living a lie. She couldn't do that to Jill. Not after all they'd been through.
I hurts even more when fans flock to Twitter the second the Roster's posted, chattering excitedly about who and who isn't playing. They mourn the loss of Leah, and, to a lesser extent, Beth. Steph barely gets a look in. No one remembered her.
The others get cheering crowds and signs baring their names waved as they play. They get little kids looking up to them and philosophical podcast chats about the growing hype of women's football. Steph doesn't get that. After all her hard work, clawing her way through men who didn't let her play, wrenching doors open, and slamming through glass ceilings, she doesn't get to reap the rewards of her hard work.
What she gets is a shitty five-minute phone call, a vague half-explanation, and a Sarina Weigman who sounds like she's preparing for war when she delivers the news.
"You're not being called up." Comes the Dutch woman's firm voice.
"It's ok." Steph replies. "I knew."
"It's nothing personal, we just feel like your style of play doesn't suit our new direction. We wish you the best of luck-"
"Why?" Steph butts in. "I knew you wouldn't pick me, but why? What can I do better?" her voice is empty.
"Why are you asking, Steph?" Comes Weigman's resolute voice. "If you're trying to butter me up, my answer is no. You won't change my mind. The team is chosen, and you're not on it."
A sudden wave of white-hot anger bursts through Steph. She forces her voice to remain level. "How dare you say that? How dare you imply that I would pander to you, to kiss your ass and lie at your feet? After everything I have given to this team, I would expect you not to bullshit me like that. I am asking, to improve. Not for you, not for the fans, not for the team, but for myself. Understood?"
Silence.
"Are we understood, Weigman?"
"We are. It was wrong of me to resume that. I apologise." Sarina says, calm once more.
"It was. So, why? I know I wouldn't have been starting, but I could've helped. I could've been there for the girls, some of them have never played a single minute in a World Cup before, I, Would. Have. Helped."
"You need to get back with your own team first, get used to the smaller leagues. Going straight back to the top after an injury like yours wouldn't help you, Steph."
"It's Miss Houghton, to you, Weigman. We are not friends. I would say that I have played for a 'smaller league'. Have been for almost a year, to be exact. If that is your reason for cutting me, it's a piss-poor one."
"Mis Hou-" Sarina cuts in.
"Save it. I've done everything you asked me to do. You left me. And no-one, not even the girls, will even think about me now I'm gone. I understand, Sarina. But that doesn't mean it stops hurting."