Menorca
June 2025
The villa was chaos before they'd even unpacked properly.
Music already playing. Suitcases abandoned everywhere. Someone had opened wine within eight minutes of arriving.
And Leah—
for the first time in weeks—
looked relaxed.
Actually relaxed.
No media obligations.
No interviews.
No tactical meetings.
Just sun and sea and people she loved before England camp swallowed her whole again.
"You realise your cousins are terrifying?" Elle murmured quietly while watching two of Leah's cousins loudly argue over paddleboards near the pool.
Leah looked deeply amused.
"They've actually been very restrained so far."
"That's concerning."
Fair.
Very fair.
The holiday happened almost accidentally.
One last week before England camp.
Before Switzerland.
Before the Euros pressure swallowed Leah alive again.
So suddenly there they all were in Menorca together:
Leah.
Elle.
Lia.
Mariona.
A handful of Leah's cousins.
Too much wine.
Too much sun.
And absolutely no emotional stability anywhere.
Especially not after Lisbon.
Because Leah Williamson had become unbearable since winning the Champions League.
Not ego-wise.
Emotionally.
Softer.
Clingier somehow.
More open.
Like finally achieving the dream removed some invisible wall inside her.
"You're staring again," Elle murmured later that evening while they sat together on the villa terrace overlooking the ocean.
Leah blinked once.
"What?"
"The emotional stare."
"There's no emotional stare."
"There absolutely is."
Rude.
Very rude.
But not inaccurate.
The sunset spilled gold across the water while voices and laughter echoed from inside the villa.
Mariona and Lia were currently attempting to teach Leah's cousins Spanish drinking games.
Disastrous idea honestly.
Leah sat curled sideways on the outdoor sofa beside Elle, one arm draped lazily across her legs while she watched the sea quietly.
And honestly?
Elle could tell immediately.
The Euros were already starting to creep into her head.
"You're thinking about Switzerland," Elle said softly.
Leah sighed quietly.
"Maybe."
There it was.
The shift.
The football brain switching back on again.
England captain mode approaching slowly.
Pressure returning.
"You know what's weird?" Leah murmured after a moment.
"What?"
"I used to think winning the Champions League would make me feel less scared before tournaments."
Elle frowned slightly.
"And?"
Leah laughed softly under her breath.
"It actually made me want things more."
God.
That sentence landed heavily.
Because of course it did.
Leah finally let herself dream fully again after the ACL.
Now the fear wasn't failure.
It was how badly she cared.
Elle shifted closer instinctively then until Leah's arm wrapped tighter around her automatically.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," Elle whispered softly.
Leah smiled faintly to herself.
"I know."
And she did know now.
That was the difference.
A year ago she isolated herself whenever pressure got too heavy.
Now she reached for people instead.
Healing looked strange sometimes.
Inside the villa suddenly erupted into screaming laughter.
Then Mariona appeared dramatically through the terrace doors holding a wine bottle.
"Leah!"
Leah physically jumped.
"What?"
"You are needed immediately."
"Why?"
Lia appeared behind her already laughing.
"Your cousins are trying to convince everyone you cried harder than Beth after Lisbon."
Leah looked horrified.
"That's slander."
"It's true though," Elle said immediately.
Traitorous behaviour honestly.
Twenty minutes later the entire villa sat around the outdoor table beneath fairy lights while stories from Lisbon got progressively less accurate with every glass of wine.
"You fully collapsed emotionally," one cousin laughed.
"I did not collapse."
"You were crying into the trophy."
"That feels contextually important."
Lia physically wheezed laughing beside Mariona while Elle sat watching Leah with that same soft expression she'd worn for months now.
Because this—
this was her favourite version of Leah.
Not captain.
Not celebrity.
Just this woman surrounded by people she loved finally allowing herself to be happy openly.
Then later—
much later—
after everyone disappeared slowly to bed, Leah and Elle ended up alone near the edge of the pool beneath warm Menorca night air.
The villa quiet now.
Ocean waves somewhere below the cliffs.
Leah sat beside her with bare feet dangling into the water while her hand stayed tangled with Elle's.
Quiet.
Thoughtful again.
"You know what I realised in Lisbon?" Leah murmured softly.
"What?"
Leah looked down briefly at their hands.
"I don't think football is the only thing I'm scared of losing anymore."
Silence.
The vulnerability hidden inside the sentence settled heavily between them.
Because Leah still loved carefully sometimes.
Like happiness remained something fragile.
Elle squeezed her fingers gently.
"You're not going to lose me."
Leah looked at her then.
Really looked at her.
And softly—
"I know."
Simple words.
Huge meaning.
Because she finally did believe it now.
Then after a second Leah smiled faintly to herself.
"What?"
"I'm going to miss you horribly in Switzerland."
God.
There it was again.
That honesty.
No pretending she was emotionally detached anymore.
Elle leaned forward kissing her slowly beneath warm Spanish night air.
And somewhere in Menorca before England camp and media pressure and another summer carrying a nation's expectations, Leah Williamson realised something quietly life-changing:
for the first time in her career, football no longer felt like the only thing holding her together.