Maria Reyes
The phone pressed into my palm, its plastic edge uncomfortable as I sat on the corner of my mahogany desk. My office felt stifling today. On the line was my father, Hector Reyes, barking his usual orders, his voice cutting through the calm I had built here.
"Maria, the bodyguards stay. You’re a Reyes, not just a therapist. Your safety is not up for discussion."
I squeezed my eyes shut, my free hand in a fist. "Father, this is my workplace. My clients today are anxious about seeing armed guards in the hall. Their eyes dart around, their voices drop, and they feel uncomfortable. Why should a therapist need protection like she’s part of a crime family?"
"You’re not just a therapist," he snapped, his tone firm and unyielding. "You carry the Reyes name. That comes with responsib
