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“It depends on the type of surgery, the patient’s age, fitness level, and other factors. But usually, it takes about six to twelve months to fully recover.”

Six to twelve months. That’s a long time. That’s the rest of the season, maybe the start of the next one. That’s the end of her dream. The end of our dream.

“Will she be able to play football again?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

“It’s possible, but not guaranteed. She’ll need a lot of rehabilitation and physical therapy. She’ll also need to regain her confidence and her form. It’s a challenging process, and not everyone regains the same level of performance.”

I feel sick. Lexa is a star. She’s a fighter. She’s a champion. She can’t lose everything because last year I was late on a tackle and went in anyway.

“When can you operate?” Isabella asks.

“She needs to rest and reduce the swelling first. The surgery can be done in a couple of weeks, once the inflammation subsides. We’ll have to wait until then.”

“Can we see her?” Ewan asks. “Is she awake?”

“She is, but she’s still under the influence of the painkillers. She might be groggy and confused. We’ll move her to a private room soon. You can see her then, but it has to be one by one, and she asked to see someone called Valentina first.”

I look at them, and they nod at me. She’s their daughter and sister, and I feel bad that they don’t get to see her while I get to see her again, but I’m also grateful because I need to be with her.

Ten minutes later, the nurse comes to take me to Lexa’s room. It’s the same nurse that got the security guard to kick me out earlier. She apologizes for that, saying it was just protocol. I tell her I understand.

We walk down the hallway, my stomach in knots about what I’ll find.

Does Lexa know? How will she react to the news? How can I help her? I don’t have the answers, but I know I have to try.

The nurse opens the door to reveal Lexa lying on the bed. She looks better than before, slightly more alert and aware. She manages a smile when she sees me, and I smile back, even though it kills me.

“Hey, cariño,” I say, walking over to her.

“Hi, Val,” she says, patting the bed next to her. “Come sit with me.”

I sit down and take her hand. I can see she’s still under the influence. She’s not herself, but she’s still my Lexa.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“I’m okay,” she says. “In a bit of pain, but I’m not as dizzy as before. I’m just a bit sleepy.”

I kiss her knuckles. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She looks at me and squeezes my hand. “The doctor was here. He told me about my knee.”

“I know, cariño.”

“He said that the recovery time is six months,” Lexa continues. “But I heard someone recovered in five. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can do it in four.”

“Lexa…”

“I know, I know. It’ll be hard, but I know I can do it. I have to get back on the field as soon as possible. I can’t let this stop me. I have to fight.”

I close my eyes for a second. I know what she wants to hear, but I can’t lie. Not to her. Never.

The doctor told us six to twelve months, but she got fixated on six months, and even now, she’s adjusting the timeline.

I know she doesn’t want to accept that it could be a year, that it could be the end of her career, that it could be the end of us playing together. The end of her playing football.

I open my eyes and look at her. She’s biting her lower lip and her eyes are shining. She’s scared, but she’s trying to be brave. She’s trying to convince herself that everything will be okay.

I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers.