"How are you holding up?" he asks.
The question catches me off guard. I expected immediate business, not concern.
"I'm fine," I lie. "Managing."
"You don't look fine." He leans forward, studying my face. "You look exhausted."
I think about the concealer I carefully applied this morning to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Sleep has become a real struggle, replaced by endless loops of worst-case scenarios playing in my mind.
"I'm a little tired," I say, another lie. "Have you heard anything else about the photo?"
Dad sighs, leaning back in his chair. "The press still hasn't identified you. There's speculation, of course, but nothing concrete."
"And the players?"
"They're focused on our next game. Barnesy has kept his mouth shut, at least." He says Nate's name with the same distaste he's always had, but now there's something else there too.
I nod, feeling relieved that no one has named me.
"Elena..." Dad removes his glasses again, setting them on the desk. "I'm concerned about you. This situation—it's clearly taking a toll."
"I'm handling it, Dad."
"No, you're not." His voice is gentle but firm. "You're avoiding team meetings. Canceling sessions. You look like you're waiting for a bomb to drop."
"What do you expect?" The words come out sharper than intended. "I made a mistake. A huge one. I'm trying to fix it by keeping my distance from... from the situation."
Dad is quiet for a moment, considering his next words. "I think you need some time away."
My stomach drops. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you should take a week off. Get some perspective. Let things cool down here."
"You're suspending me?" My voice rises slightly, panic fluttering in my chest.
"No, I'm not suspending you." He looks frustrated now. "I'm suggesting you take some time for yourself. This isn't a punishment, Elena. It's concern."
"It feels like a punishment." I can't keep the bitterness from my voice. "Or the first step to firing me."
"I'm not firing you." Dad stands, moving around the desk to sit in the chair beside me. "You're my daughter, and you're damn good at your job. One mistake doesn't erase that."
"A pretty significant ethical breach isn't just 'one mistake,'" I say, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "You were right about everything you said before. I compromised my ethics. I put my career at risk. I'm probably going to lose my license if this gets out."
Dad reaches out, his hand covering mine. "It's not going to get out. And even if it did, we'd deal with it."
"How?" I pull my hand away. "You can't fix this for me, Dad. You even said so yourself."
"No, I can't," he agrees. "But I can give you space to fix it yourself. Take the week, Elena. Clear your head."
I want to argue more, but exhaustion washes over me. Maybe he's right. Maybe I do need distance from this place, from the constant fear of running into Nate, from the sidelong glances.
"Fine," I say finally. "One week."
Dad nods, relief evident in his expression. "I'll have Dr. Mendez cover anything that might come up. Nothing pressing is scheduled anyway."
I stand, suddenly eager to be out of this office, away from his concern that feels too close to pity. "Is that all?"
He stands too, studying my face. "Elena, I know this is hard. But it’ll pass. These things always do."
