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Perhaps we'll never know where Alexia Putellas's tears came from, or who exactly they were for.
Were they tears of joy for her country, Spain, which had just won their first senior Women's World Cup title?
Were they tears of relief for women's football back home, for the millions of girls who this win will now inspire in a culture that has rarely, if ever, encouraged them?
Were they tears of pride for her teammates, the 23 players who have made footballing history, or sorrow for the teammates who sat at home, watching it happen without them?
Maybe they were tears just for herself, a two-time Ballon d'Or winner, Spain's biggest and brightest star, only just returned from injury to take part in what might be her last World Cup, caught between two worlds but not really belonging to either.
Once the tears had dried and Spain's players bounced and danced around the pitch in the aftermath of Sunday's World Cup final win over England, Putellas, the Barcelona captain, walked around in silence, like she'd just seen a ghost.
And in some ways, she had: the ghost of the players who she knew should have been there, celebrating alongside her, but who were elsewhere now, posting photos from homes and holidays, refusing to take part in this moment in history that they had, in their own ways, laid the foundations for.
Putellas hasn't had a stand-out World Cup. Her ACL injury on the eve of last year's European Championships had kept her out of Vilda's plans for almost a year, whether she wanted to be part of them or not, and while she had been slowly reintegrated back into the team over the past six months, the World Cup seemed to come too early for her to rediscover her best form in time.
She had only been given a handful of minutes towards the end of their 1-0 win over England on Sunday, replaced in the starting line-up by the teenager Salma Paralluelo; a sign, perhaps, that the group of players still dubbed Spain's "golden generation" were already starting to be replaced before they'd had a chance to shine.
That is, undoubtedly, one of the country's greatest strengths in women's football, and something that this World Cup has made the envy of everyone else.
Spain's youth development system is one of the best on the planet, reflected in the fact they now hold all three Women's World Cup titles at once at U-17, U-20, and now senior level, with the 19-year-old Paralluelo, who won Best Young Player at this year's tournament, having been part of all three sides herself.
But her acceleration, alongside many others, has come out of necessity. Despite the fact that Spain hoisted the World Cup trophy on Sunday night, the team that did it was, many argue, not the best it could have been.
There weren't many of them left here. Just three, in fact, of the 15 now known as Las 15 who, less than a year ago, signed a letter directed to the Spanish Football Federation's president, Luis Rubiales, expressing their concerns about Spain's larger set-up following their quarterfinal exit from last year's Euros.
Their concerns were many and varied. The first was about the coach, Jorge Vilda. While there were no allegations of illegal behaviour towards his players, there were suggestions that he had created a controlling, anxious environment of power imbalances, favouritism, intimidation, and individual stresses, resulting in multiple players — including Spain's all-time leading goal-scorer, Jenni Hermoso — leaving training in tears.
One well-known story is that Vilda forced his players to leave their bedroom doors open so he could check on their whereabouts by a certain curfew, while another is that he would check the contents of their bags once they returned from a day out.
He also allegedly mismanaged player loads, which sometimes led to preventable injuries. His training methods and game tactics have also been criticised, with a lack of clarity and direction for players. Despite the array of talent available to him — thanks in large part to the acceleration of professional club football in the country — Vilda, who'd been in charge for almost a decade, still hadn't won a major trophy with them.
The second major concern the players raised was the federation's larger lack of support for their senior women's program. They demanded similar treatment to what they received at club level: to play more games against higher-ranked opponents, improved travel to and from camps and matches, more members of staff to help with fitness and injuries.
Three weeks before the letter was leaked, the 15 players took these concerns to Rubiales privately. In a media conference, then-captain Irene Paredes insisted the players did not ask for Vilda's removal, only to "communicate the way we feel" with a World Cup around the corner.
But the federation didn't budge. In fact, they doubled down.
And so, on a Thursday evening last September, half of Spain's squad sent identical emails to the federation saying they refused to be available for national team selection until something changed.
"I inform you that the events that have occurred and the situation that has arisen in the Spanish national team, a situation of which you are aware, are having an important effect on my emotional state, and by extension my health," the emails read.
"As a result, I do not currently consider myself to be in a condition to be chosen for the national team, and I ask not to be called up until the situation is resolved."
The letter was almost immediately made public, leaked by someone at the federation. Instead of backing the players, the RFEF released a blunt statement standing by the man they'd installed from the U-17 and U-20 levels.
Putellas, alongside Hermoso and Paredes, didn't sign the letter, but publicly supported it by posting it on their own social media pages. Just one of them — Hermoso — travelled to Australia in February to compete in the friendly Cup of Nations tournament, with Vilda frostily answering questions about the absence of all the others.
And those absent players could, ultimately, do nothing about it. Because part of the problem is that Vilda's boss is his father, Angel, who is currently the head of the RFEF's women's football department, while his son is not only the head coach of the senior women's program but also the women's technical director, which means he has the final say over player selections.
Their power is all-encompassing and suffocating, but it is also the only door through which these players must walk if they want to compete at the highest level for their country; to go on, as they have done here, to be crowned the best in the world.
The past six months have posed a difficult dilemma for many players in that respect. Aitana Bonmatí, a Barcelona midfielder who originally signed the letter but who withdrew from the boycott in order to compete at the World Cup, told ESPN in June that there had been conversations between the players and the RFEF, and that they had granted some of their requests.
More staff had supposedly been added, friendlies against better opponents had been scheduled, a nutritionist was appointed, travel standards improved, and more money was committed to allow players' families to accompany them to the World Cup — including Paredes's young son, Mateo.
Bonmatí was not the only original signatory who withdrew their letter in order to be selected for this tournament. In total, eight of the original 15 reportedly made themselves available, while seven chose to maintain their boycott, including Barcelona stars Mapi León, Patri Guijarro, and Clàudia Pina, with the former saying that her "values come first" before personal accolades.
Of the eight that returned, Vilda picked just three: Bonmatí, who was awarded the World Cup's Golden Ball award for best player; Mariona Caldentey, who assisted the game-winning goal; and Ona Batlle, one of the tournament's best defenders. Was it a pure footballing decision, or a small act of revenge from an all-powerful head coach, to leave out the others?
Little has been mentioned of the saga since the World Cup began, but one need only look at the way the squad and Vilda interact with each other to see that tensions are ongoing.
After their extra-time win over the Netherlands in the quarterfinal, a viral video showed his own players ignoring him as he walked across the pitch to celebrate with them.
The same awkward vibes were present on Sunday: he was pushed to the periphery of team huddles and photos. His players brushed past him at half-time as they walked into the changing rooms or only half-listened to instructions before going on the field.
When Caldentey was substituted off the field, the usually smiley winger was glum, walking straight to the bench while Vilda was at the opposite end of the coaching area without so much as a gesture in her direction. His squad spent most of their time celebrating with each other instead of him while waiting for the trophy presentation.
It was interesting watching Putellas then; watching who she gravitated towards and away from. As her younger teammates rushed towards the sideline to applaud their noisy fans, Putellas wrapped a gentle arm around Paredes, with the two senior stars raising quiet fists in the air.
She swapped shirts with Hermoso, the pair two of the only veterans of an era worse than this one, wearing each other's iconic numbers on their chests, knowing better than most how complicated this moment feels.
It is fitting, in a strange way, that Spain has won the 2023 Women's World Cup given that here, in the space of a single team's story, all the progress and problems of the women's game have been laid out for all to see.
Spain's team is, on the one hand, the epitome of youth development bearing fruit: of what happens when you invest in young talent early and bring them through the ranks, aided by the growing professionalism of a handful of world-class clubs.
They're a team that plays with a distinct and effective style, a team firm in its idea of itself, and a team that has been able to overcome many challenges on their World Cup journey. They are the epitome of football's new era: a team filled with tenacity and technique, with poise and purpose.
On the other hand, they are a team haunted by the ghosts of the past: they have put their own aspirations above those players who have sacrificed their national team careers (perhaps for good) in order to make the lives of every woman player in Spain, now and into the future, better.
They are a team led by a man accused of creating an environment of silence and suffering, and who is defended by a federation whose culture and structure is designed to maintain the patriarchal status quo and punish those who would dare challenge it.
It is one of the great paradoxes of women's football that its players are at once the game's most powerful agents — and, for this Spain side, this World Cup win has arguably made them more powerful still — while, at the very same time, they are its most powerless, forced to use themselves as pawns in the bigger game that's played off the field.
Indeed, the fact it's the players at all who have to carry the weight of all this in the absence of ethical and supportive leadership from above is a symptom of the insidious problem women's football still faces, with multiple nations at this year's tournament - Jamaica, Nigeria, Canada, Colombia - fighting similar battles for recognition and respect from the men in suits above them who control their destinies.
Often, it is the success of these teams despite their circumstances that allows these stories to be told; for the spotlight of the world stage to be shone hot and bright upon them so that the rest of us can see through the shadows.
As the USA showed in 2019, success can be a team's biggest bargaining chip; their most powerful argument in the bigger fight. Whether they continue that once the halo of this World Cup begins to fade is the biggest question of all.
This is a team still seemingly fractured between those loyal to Vilda for giving them an opportunity to live out their dreams, and those who stood for something once, only to hand back their collective principles in exchange for personal glory. The real cost of those choices may not be understood within themselves for some time yet, nor whether hoisting that trophy on Sunday was worth it in the end.
Vilda, for his part, is clear on his stance.
"If all this was necessary to be world champions, then it's valid," he said afterwards.
"It's been difficult at a personal level and a management level, but at a sporting level, we've achieved results that we've never achieved before.
"I'm very satisfied with the work we've done.
"In this case, I believe justice has been done, and the best team has won the world championship."
So what does a player like Putellas do in this moment?
Does she use this platform of success to advocate publicly for change, knowing that her personal bargaining power has perhaps never been greater? Does she sacrifice a bigger fall from a greater height in exchange for lifting up those who watched Spain make history from the sidelines?
Or does she say nothing at all, hoping instead that their football will do their talking for them, praying that change will happen regardless, but weighed down by the guilt of abandoning the bigger cause to soak up one final moment in the sun? Does she trade in goodness for greatness?
Perhaps, instead, she just cries; the gold medal around her neck growing heavier and heavier with every passing second.