Of course she had. Everyone had. "I'm sorry," I managed. "If I'd known this would happen, I never would have—"
"Stop." Her voice was firm but not unkind. "You saved a man's life. That's not something to apologize for."
"But the team—"
"The team is fine. Coach Kinkaid already released a statement supporting you. Said you demonstrated exactly the kind of competency and quick thinking they want in their staff." She leaned forward, her gaze sharp. "The real question is whether you're okay."
I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "Define okay."
Nancy didn't smile. She just waited, the way she always had when she knew I was holding something back. That patient silence that made confession feel inevitable.
"Gavin called me again last night," I admitted. "I assume wanting to warn me about this morning, or maybe just twist the knife. Left me a voicemail wanting to explain." My voice shook. "He said he still loves me."
"And did you call him back?"
"I deleted it." I stared into my tea, watching my own distorted reflection. I was mad at myself for listening. "But for a second—just a second—I wanted to believe him. How pathetic is that?"
"It's not pathetic." Nancy's voice softened. "It's human. We want to believe the people we loved aren't capable of hurting us on purpose. It's easier than accepting the truth."
"The truth being that he used me."
"The truth being that he made a choice," she corrected. "A selfish, cruel choice that prioritized his career over your wellbeing. That's not a reflection of your worth, Cinder. That's a reflection of his character."
I nodded, but the words felt distant, like they were meant for someone else. Someone who hadn't spent the last five monthsquestioning every decision, every relationship, every moment of vulnerability that had led to that article destroying my life.
"There's something else," I said, because apparently today was the day for confessions. "Someoneelse."
Nancy's eyebrow rose—that familiar expression that said she already knew and was just waiting for me to catch up.
"Taranis Rees. Taz."
"The goaltender."
"He—" I stopped, trying to figure out how to explain something I didn't fully understand myself. "You saw him. He warned me. This morning. About the article. He was waiting in the parking lot when I got here, and he told me before I could walk in and get blindsided."
"That was thoughtful of him."
"It was more than thoughtful." I set down the mug, my hands still trembling slightly. "He held me, Nancy. When I fell apart. He just... held me. And he said things—" My throat tightened. "He said I deserved kindness. That someone sees me."
Nancy was quiet for a long moment. Then, gently: "And how did that make you feel?"
"Terrified." The admission came out before I could stop it. "Because I wanted to believe him. And the last time I believed someone who said things like that—"
"He's not Gavin."
"I know that." I dragged both hands through my hair, frustrated. "I know he's not. But how am I supposed to trust my own judgment anymore? I thought Gavin loved me. I thought I could tell him anything. And look where that got me." Although if I was honest, Gavin had been gaslighting me for years. Shame burned in me.
Nancy reached across the desk and took my hand. Her grip was warm, steady—the same hands that had guided mine through my first central line, my first code, my first loss.
"You made a mistake," she said. "You trusted someone who didn't deserve it. That's painful, and it's going to take time to heal. But it doesn't mean you're broken. It doesn't mean you'll never be able to trust again."
"What if I can't?" I whispered. "What if I push away everyone who tries to get close because I'm too scared to let them in?"
"Then you'll end up alone and miserable, and you'll have done exactly what Gavin wanted." Her voice sharpened slightly. "He didn't just take your job, Cinder. He took your confidence. Your sense of self. And if you let him take your ability to connect with people who actually care about you, then he wins."
I stared at her, something shifting in my chest. "That's harsh."
"That's honest." She squeezed my hand before releasing it. "You're one of the best nurses I've ever worked with. You have instincts that most people spend decades trying to develop. And you have a heart that feels everything deeply—even when it hurts."