Hailey Van Lith’s reaction on WNBA Draft night wasn’t the smile-and-tears moment fans expected—it was something else entirely. As her name was called by the Chicago Sky with the 11th overall pick, her expression told a different story: not joy, not relief—panic. Cameras captured it in full. She didn’t look thrilled. She looked like someone whose past had just walked back through the door.

Because with that one pick, Hailey Van Lith was headed right back to the one situation she worked so hard to escape.

The headlines focused on the reunion, but the context was far more complicated. By being drafted to Chicago, Van Lith was now reuniting with her former LSU teammate Angel Reese—a dynamic that, while rich with star power, carried with it serious emotional baggage.

For those who watched closely during their time at LSU, the tension was impossible to ignore. Van Lith had transferred there from Louisville, where she averaged nearly 20 points per game and was the focal point of the offense. At LSU, that role vanished. Sharing the floor with Reese, Van Lith’s production plummeted to just 11 points per game. She struggled to find rhythm, her shots disappeared, and so did her visibility.

It wasn’t just a statistical drop—it was a clear case of a player being overshadowed, and the fit just never clicked. Rumors of internal friction swirled, and while nothing was ever publicly confirmed, Van Lith made her next move loud and clear: she left. She transferred again, this time to TCU, and it was there that she rebuilt everything.

At TCU, she thrived. Her numbers climbed. Her confidence returned. And more importantly, she looked like herself again. Hailey Van Lith, once one of the most promising guards in college basketball, had bet on herself—and won.

Until draft night.

That’s when fate—or perhaps irony—put her right back in the same orbit she once risked everything to leave.

The moment the Chicago Sky called her name, social media lit up. Fans weren’t cheering—they were gasping. One viral tweet said it best: “She cut the cancer out, and it came right back.” It’s a brutal line, but it reflected the broader sentiment of concern rather than celebration.

Observers zoomed in on her face. The stiff smile. The vacant eyes. The lack of excitement. “That’s not nerves,” one WNBA analyst noted. “That’s trauma.”

And it’s not just about personal history—it’s about basketball systems. Van Lith is a rhythm player. She excels when she’s a primary ball handler, when she’s trusted to orchestrate the game. At LSU, playing beside Reese, that rhythm collapsed. She became an off-ball, secondary option, and her performance showed it.

Now the fear is clear: Will Chicago repeat the same mistake?

The Sky, for their part, are in a unique position. They now have two high-profile players who’ve already shown they don’t mesh well together. The chemistry wasn’t there in college—so why would it work in the pros, under higher stakes and more pressure?

To be fair, Chicago’s coaching staff may see it differently. They might view the duo as a chance to develop a one-two punch of interior dominance (Reese) and perimeter creation (Van Lith). But if they fail to build a system that supports both players without minimizing either, they could find themselves not with a dynamic duo—but a dysfunctional one.

And Van Lith has more to lose. She’s already endured a public regression once. Doing it again could be devastating—not just statistically, but mentally and professionally. Her WNBA future depends on getting this next phase right.

The concern isn’t that she can’t play at the next level. It’s that she’s been drafted into a situation eerily similar to the one that nearly derailed her ascent. And this time, there’s no transfer portal. No second reset.

She’ll have to make it work.

What’s more troubling is that it didn’t have to happen this way. There were other teams with clearer roster fits, systems that would allow Van Lith to flourish as the lead guard she was born to be. Instead, she’s back in a role where her shine might be dimmed before she ever steps on a professional court.

Fans are watching closely. The same ones who rallied around her at TCU, who praised her resilience and rediscovery, are now worried that history is repeating itself—and that this time, there may be no escape hatch.

The WNBA is a tough league, and rookies rarely get second chances. Van Lith has the skill, the grit, and the drive. But what she may not have now is the support system to unlock it.

Chicago Sky must act fast. The coaching staff needs to address the obvious tension, not ignore it. The front office must commit to a system that values Van Lith’s strengths. And Hailey? She must once again dig deep—because if she’s going to thrive, she’ll need to do what she’s always done: fight her way out.