IVY'S POV The first morning in Boston felt like stepping onto a new stage with unfamiliar lights.I stood in front of the mirror in my small apartment, adjusting the collar of my professional blouse for the third time. The navy fabric was crisp and new, chosen specifically for this day. My hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and I had applied a touch of makeup to hide the shadows under my eyes. I looked like the competent, professional therapist I had always prided myself on being. But inside, my stomach was a knot of nerves and quiet hope.This was my fresh start.I grabbed my bag, locked the door, and walked the short distance to the Boston Storm’s training facility. The building was modern and bright, with glass walls and the faint scent of ice and effort in the air. The head of the medical department, Dr. Ramirez, greeted me warmly at the front desk and gave me a quick tour. The rehab area was well-equipped, with state-of-the-art machines and private treatment rooms. It fe
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