March 19: The Walk Home
Valley Parade → Bradford Streets → Home
Chapman left last. The dressing room still echoed behind him—boots hitting lockers, Roney yelling something half-ridiculous across the room, and Silva too tired to move from the floor, one leg up on a bench, arms folded behind his head like a man who had just survived a war and wasn't sure he wanted to stand yet.
Lowe and Holloway were already in the tunnel, talking with the medical team. Munteanu walked past, still barefoot, gloves dangling from his shoulder, his face glowing with exhaustion and disbelief.
Chapman kept his boots tied together, laces looped over his shoulder, ice packs strapped to both knees. He didn't speak or smile. He nodded once at Walsh, who caught his eye and nodded back. That was enough.
