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Ferran made the sign two days in advance.
It was bright blue with gold stars, glitter on the edges, and a big crooked heart in the middle. He used the thick markers and even let Alora's old sparkle stickers peel off her craft box to decorate it.
It said: “GO ALORA!!! #1 FAN (we love u!)”
Pedri had laughed when he saw it.
“She’s gonna be so hyped,” Ferran said, tapping the sign like it was sacred. “First official football game. That’s a big deal.”
“She’s six.”
“And she’s wearing shin guards. That’s practically professional.”
He stayed up late ironing her team jersey so it looked just right.
The day of the game, Ferran could hardly sit still. He put Mateo in a red hoodie to match the team colors, packed snacks, extra bottles, Mateo’s second-favorite teether, and Pedri’s sunglasses because “you’re gonna cry like a baby when she scores.”
He carried the sign all the way to the field like it was a flag.
And Alora?
She looked nervous. Pink-cheeked, bouncing on her cleats. She didn’t want to hold hands, but she let Pedri fix her ponytail. She waved at her teammates. She grinned when she saw the field.
But when Ferran called out from the sideline, voice bright as sunshine-
“Let’s go, princesa!”
-Alora barely glanced at him.
Pedri noticed it. That slight shift in her expression. Just enough to sting.
She played well. She ran fast, passed smart, scored once.
Ferran cheered every second.
He waved the sign, shouted her name, clapped loud and off-beat, bounced Mateo on his hip and told everyone who would listen, “That’s my daughter.”
When she came off the pitch after the game, Ferran ran to her with his arms open, still holding Mateo.
“You were amazing! That goal was beautiful!”
Alora barely looked at him.
“Thanks,” she muttered, brushing sweaty hair off her forehead. “Can we go home now?”
“You don’t want to celebrate? We can go for ice cre-”
“You don’t have to be so loud. It’s kinda embarrassing.”
Ferran blinked.
“Oh,” he said.
Pedri stood a few feet behind, quiet, eyes narrowing slightly.
“I didn’t mean to-” Ferran started.
“It’s fine. Just… next time, don’t bring the sign.”
And just like that, she walked off toward the car.
Mateo babbled on Ferran’s shoulder, completely unaware.
Ferran smiled like it didn’t hurt.
But Pedri knew the look on his face better than anyone, and he could tell that, deep down, Ferran was trying not to cry.
Back at home, Pedri helped Alora change while Ferran and Mateo went out for a walk. The house was quiet in a way that made everything louder.
Alora sat on the edge of her bed, arms folded, looking everywhere except Pedri.
He crouched down in front of her.
“Alora,” he said calmly. “We need to talk.”
She picked at a thread on her shorts.
“You’re allowed to grow up. And you’re allowed to feel things about that. But what you said to Papa today? That wasn’t kind.”
“I didn’t mean it to be mean,” she muttered.
“I know. But it still hurt him.”
She stayed quiet.
“He made that sign for you because he was proud. Because he loves you so much, it makes his chest hurt sometimes. You used to laugh when he made silly voices. Now you act like he’s doing something wrong just for cheering you on.”
Alora’s lip wobbled.
Pedri didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“You don’t have to want hugs all the time. You don’t have to hold his hand. But love isn’t something you should feel ashamed of. Not from the people who give it to you for free. Especially not him.”
“I didn’t mean to make him sad.”
“You did.”
That broke her.
Tears welled in her eyes and started to spill. She swiped at them fast, angry at herself.
Pedri pulled her in gently, his hands warm on her back.
“He cried a little,” he whispered. “Not where you could see it. But I saw it.”
Alora clung to him.
“I just wanted to fit in,” she mumbled. “The other girls at school said it’s baby stuff. That it’s weird when your dad yells your name and makes signs like you’re in kindergarten.”
Pedri brushed her curls back.
“They don’t know your dad. They don’t know how hard he tries. How soft he gets when he talks about you. And you don’t have to prove anything to anyone by making him smaller.”
Alora nodded against his chest.
“Can I fix it?”
“That’s up to you.”
It took her a while.
She sat at the table with her markers, thinking hard, drawing slow. Pedri put a plate of lunch in front of her. She didn’t speak. She just kept drawing.
When the door opened again, it was quiet at first.
Then-
“Papa!”
Ferran looked up, startled, to see Alora sprinting toward him, clutching a folded-up paper in both hands.
She threw her arms around his waist, face buried in his hoodie.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, already crying.
Ferran froze.
Then he knelt down, Mateo still strapped to his chest, and opened his arms.
Alora threw herself into them, crying hard now.
“I didn’t mean it. I love your sign. I love when you cheer. I don’t care what they think. I missed when you were loud and silly. I just wanted to be cool, but it wasn’t worth it if it made you sad.”
Ferran held her tighter than he thought he could. Mateo let out a confused little babble.
“You didn’t lose me,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”
“I was so mean.”
“You were embarrassed. That’s different.”
She shoved the drawing into his hand.
It showed Ferran with his big sign, her on the field kicking a ball, Mateo clapping with big round eyes. The heart in the middle had “LO SIENTO” in crooked letters.
Ferran’s eyes filled.
He held it to his chest, kissed her hair, and whispered, “I’ll bring the sign to every game. Forever.”
Alora nodded into his shoulder. “Good. I’m your biggest fan, too.”
- sofía ✎ᝰ.