I slept the deep, dreamless sleep of a man whose future had finally, blessedly, clicked into place. The chairman's handshake, the promise of a permanent contract, the quiet, unwavering belief in Emma's eyes; it was a foundation, solid and real, on which to build.
The fear of relegation, a constant, gnawing anxiety that had lived in the pit of my stomach for weeks, was gone. In its place was a new feeling, one I hadn't allowed myself to truly experience until now: ambition. Not just to survive, but to build. Not just to win, but to create something beautiful, something lasting.
The buzz of my phone at 7 a.m. was the only alarm I needed. Hull City. Home. 3 pm. Today.
I smiled. The real work begins now.
The drive to Selhurst Park was different. The streets of South London, usually a tense, humming backdrop to my pre-match nerves, felt alive with a new energy. Red and blue scarves hung from windows, and flags were draped over balconies.
