REWARD FROM MAMA

Alonso's legs felt very exhausted when he turned the corner onto his street. His stomach growled loudly—a reminder that he hadn't eaten anything since the night before.

The early morning practice had fatigued every ounce of energy he had, but he didn't care. Every touch on the ball, every drip of sweat—it all felt like fuel pushing him closer to his dream.

He rushed up the stairs to their small apartment, eager to satisfy his growling stomach. As he opened the creaky door, he expected to smell the usual boiled potatoes or the basic lentil soup they often had when they were short on money.

Instead, a rich, savory aroma greeted him.

His nose wiggled, and his tired eyes widened in surprise as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Pasta and sauce, Mama?" he blurted, his voice lifting with excitement. "You know I love it so much. You're the best mum in the world."

His mother, standing by the stove with a wooden spoon in hand, turned toward him with a warm smile. "I thought you deserved something special today," she said, her voice soft but proud. "Four goals, Alonso. That's no small thing."

Alonso's heart swelled at her words. He dropped his ball by the door and crossed the small kitchen to wrap his arms around her waist. "Gracias, Mama, and i willl make you proud one day" he murmured, feeling the familiar comfort of her embrace.

"Sit down, mijo," she said, brushing his hair back gently. "You must be starving."

''Yes i am Mama''.He settled into the old wooden chair at the table, his mouth watering as she placed a plate in front of him.

The pasta shone with red sauce, steam rising into the air. He started his meal, savoring each bite like it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

Whiles he was enjoying his meal, his sister was outside. A few minutes later, his sister Lucia came in, her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, a textbook tucked under her arm.

As usual, she was always studying. She glanced at his plate with a teasing smirk. "Pasta and sauce? What did you do—win the World Cup?"

Alonso laughed, barely able to speak through a mouthful of pasta. ''What's the World Cup Lucia?''. Alonso asked. ''I will tell you more about it''.

Lucia set her book on the table and lowered herself into the chair across from him. "Four goals is impressive," she admitted. "But you know, you still need to study. Football won't do your homework for you."

"Yeah I know Lucia," Alonso sighed, rolling his eyes playfully.

"But Coach said scouts might notice me if I keep playing like this. What if—" He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "What if I could do it? What if I could play for a big team someday?"

Lucia's expression softened.

She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "If anyone can, it's you," she said quietly. "Just don't forget your books on the way to glory."

Their mother chuckled softly from the sink. "Listen to your sister, Alonso," she said. "Education opens doors that talent alone cannot."

Alonso nodded, though his thoughts were already drifting back to the box in his room—the gleaming new boots, the promise they held. "I won't forget," he promised.

Dinner stretched on with easy conversation, laughter echoing through the small apartment. For a little while, the worries about bills and broken things faded away. They were just a family sharing a meal—something precious in itself.

Later, after the dishes were cleared and the apartment settled into its usual quiet, Alonso retreated to his room. The air felt cooler inside, and the dim light from the old lamp cast soft shadows along the walls.

He flopped onto his bed, pulling his phone from the bedside table.

He hadn't thought much about the message from earlier, but as he powered the screen to life, his heart jumped.

A new notification blinked back at him.

Another message.

His breath hitched when he opened it.

"Hey, playmaker. I can't wait to see you at church tomorrow."

Valeria.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he read the words again. For a second, the ache in his muscles and the worries in his heart faded into the background. She wanted to see him. After everything, she still wanted to talk to him.

He rolled onto his back, the phone resting on his chest, heart drumming softly against his ribs. Sleep would come eventually, but for now, he let himself savor the moment.

Tomorrow, he would see her. And for the first time in weeks, Alonso felt something unfamiliar stir inside him—hope.

But even as he closed his eyes, another thought crept in.

If Javi found out, there would be trouble.

And Alonso knew, deep down, that trouble was never far behind.