"There. Deep breaths, Da. Remember to breathe with each stretch." Hands guiding his every movement, Isobel helped her father slide from downward dog into child's pose. Opening his back and hips while giving his body opportunity to relax. To rest.

Knowing all about her separation from Kyle had made him complacent, apparently emotional blackmail was the card she needed to push him into waking up early every morning for daily yoga. Already ten days in and she was seeing an improvement in his balance and flexibility. In a few more weeks she planned to nudge him into more advanced stretches to strengthen the weak muscles of his back as well as opening up those that had overcompensated.

It would be a slow process, but a vital one to restoring some measure of mobility and functionality to his range of movement.

Sucking in deep, heaving breaths, arms trembling, Angus followed her instructions, muttering and grumbling as he rolled back up into downward dog, sinking in deep to the pose.

"Okay, I think that's good for today. Sink slowly to your knees and, when you're ready, sit back."

"Christ Jaysus," Angus grumbled. "When does this get relaxin'?"

"Soon. I promise. Can you manage getting to your chair? I think you've earned yourself a proper breakfast."

"Proper by an Irishman's standards?"

Isobel smirked. "There'll be bacon, I promise."

Exuberant joy lit his misty blue eyes and whether it was the bacon, or the Yoga, he sprang to his feet without much issue. Leaving him to get comfortable in his worn recliner, Isobel ventured into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

She'd broken his routine to thirty minutes in the morning and another thirty before bed. Though he grumbled greatly at first, after a couple of days she saw a vast improvement. The hard lines under his eyes weren't quite so deep and in the mornings he seemed more...rested.

Every day his progress gave her hope. And right now hope was something she needed as the horrible details of her personal life were slapped across social media. The video's hype had escalated quickly beyond the first day and skyrocketed after the second. It got so bad she'd had to unplug the house phone and whenever she had to venture outside, she'd limited her trips to the crucial and essential.

Grocery stores. Pharmacies. And then of course, the heart wrenching business of putting the brakes on a wedding set for eight weeks away. Meeting with suppliers and vendors—falling on her sword while begging for their mercy.

Some hadn't as much as blinked before pointing to her signature on the fully executed contract. The live band Kyle had insisted on for the reception, the chauffeured Rolls Royce he'd also wanted wouldn't budge, and the overpriced photographer he'd also sourced out wouldn't budge.

Mercifully, some others proved to be more gracious. Particularly her venue. As it so happened, another couple had walked in the day before, set on that date as well as the location. Their wedding would prove to be a much larger, grander affair splashed across a prime network. An opportunity the venue didn't want to pass up and agreed to release her from her contract plus return all money paid thus far.

Freeing of a twenty-thousand-dollar noose.

Isobel had wept tears of gratitude as the money bought her the breathing room she needed to find gainful employment while still covering the overhead at home. Until her father's settlement suit came to a resolution, everything fell on her slender shoulders. And up until yesterday her shoulders didn't know if they could handle the burden for another minute.

Losing herself in the homey task of boiling eggs and frying bacon, Isobel poured green tea into a couple of mugs left to steep and as the bacon drained on a couple folds of paper towel, she sliced up fresh heirloom tomatoes and cooked them in a clean skillet with some avocado oil, even though her father would have preferred the left over bacon fat not go to waste.

What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Setting out a couple of plates, she loaded them up and carried them out to the living room so they could eat while watching the morning news.

"What've you got planned for today," Angus asked. He frowned at the mug of green tea she set next to him, but didn't say a single word of complaint as he brought it to his lips and gingerly sipped.

Claiming the corner of the couch, Isobel sliced into her eggs with the edge of her fork. "With the wedding stuff behind me it's all about finding a job. I've been in touch with a few head hunters. One of which I'm going to meet with this afternoon."

"Sounds promising."

Isobel only nodded, not wanting to tell him that the few places she'd scoped out had ultimately connected with her in hopes of scoring an interview. She'd walked away from three—utterly humiliated. This time she'd decided to put herself in the hands of an agency, and adjusted her last name on her resume to reflect her mother's maiden name.

Making the change had been painful and felt like a colossal betrayal to her father though necessary to deflect anyone else from only putting forward an offer of an interview with the hopes of trapping her again. Which also meant she'd also have to veer away from the news circuit until the frenzy of the scandal all blew over. If ever.

A heartbreaking revelation when all she wanted was to effect change in the world.

Reaching between them, Angus set his hand over hers. "Strength doesn't come from what we can do. Its forged in overcoming things we never thought possible." Large fingers circled tighter around her smaller ones. "We'll get through this."

"I know, Da." Scooting onto the armrest of his recliner only a couple inches from her, this was as close as she could get to him without crawling into his lap. Leaning into his arms, she rested her head on his shoulder. Careful not to transfer any weight onto his body.

God, how she missed being able to wrap her arms around his waist and squeeze. To pour all her grief and sadness into that firm, fast circle of his arms, knowing he could take it. That he could carry it all.

Her shield. Her hero.

Now it was she who had to carry it all for him. To stand for him. And there were days she wanted to crumble under the pressure; she hated that weakness. Did everything she could to push it out of her.

Finished with breakfast, Isobel carted the dishes into the kitchen to wash up and had only set the last plate in the rack when the doorbell rang.

"Don't get up, Da. I've got it," she called out, drying her hands on her thighs. Wondering who would be stopping by, she unlocked the front door, tugged it open.

A woman spun around from the street, a phone set to her ear and a friendly smile flashed across her face. Cars whisked down rain-soaked street with the wet roll of tires on pavement. "Larry, she's home. I'll call you back." Hanging up, the woman slid the phone into her Louis Vuitton purse.

"Isobel, hi. My name is Nneka Evans. I'm from MTV and would love to speak with you."

"I know who you are," Isobel answered, her voice small. She'd grown up seeing Nneka's face on TV as an anchor, delivering the evening news on CP24 until she transitioned from in front of the camera to behind it as a producer with MTV.

When the scandal had first broken out, somehow Isobel's number had found its way into the hands of half the city of Toronto. She'd been forced to change it—twice—as random people and reporters called all hours of the day and night looking for a statement or as a prank. Fed up she'd shut it off all together two days ago. Hoping they'd get the hint.

But apparently the natural progression was to now show up on her doorstep.

"You people are relentless." Stepping back into the safety of her home, Isobel wrenched open the door so she could disappear inside and slam it in the woman's arrogant face. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"No—no wait! I'm not here for that." Setting herself in serious hams way, Nneka braced the door. "Please, hear me out. Five minutes. We can speak through the door, if you prefer. And if you don't like what I have to say I'll leave."

Isobel raised her chin, her grip bone-white on the handle. "If you're not here to interrogate me and exploit my shame, then what do you want?"

Nneka's features eased and her hand lowered from the door, confident that Isobel wasn't about to slam it shut. "A job. I want to offer you a position with MTV."

Maybe it was a mark of desperation, but Isobel's curiosity overcame better judgement, and she ushered Nneka into her home, closed the door, and led her into the living room just as Angus let out a grating curse.

"What the bleedin' bollix—?"

"Da, it's alright." Isobel said. "Ms. Evan's is here to speak to me about a job. That's all."

"Is she now?" Angus struggled out of his seat, eyes blazing with condemnation and warning. Somehow Isobel knew, despite his fail frame and chronic pain, he was prepared to toss Nneka bodily over his shoulder and heave her out the door to protect his daughter.

Tears seared the back of Isobel's eyes at seeing the barest glimmer of the man her father had once been standing before her.

"I'll be fine, Da." Kissing his cheek, she gave him a gentle nudge. "The rain's stopped. Why don't you sit in the yard and do some puzzles?"

Angus flickered his gaze to Isobel, nodded grudgingly. "I'll be close if ya need me," he said, and toddled off. A little stiff in his movements, but otherwise well enough that she could see he wouldn't need her help with managing the back steps.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked when they were alone, even if the words were empty and hollow, she was raised too well to be rude to a guest in her home. Even if the guest wasn't exactly welcome.

"No, thank you." Nneka sat down in the center of the couch, crossed a leg. Her skirt flaring around her knees. "I won't keep you long. I squeezed this trip in between a few meetings at the studio."

Needing a bit of distance, Isobel sat down in the arm chair facing her, keeping the coffee table squarely between them like a border dividing enemy lines. "You said something about a job."

"Yes. On my production team." Nneka cupped both hands around her knee. "I guess it's safe to say you've been avoiding all forms of news and media lately."

Isobel nodded and Nneka echoed the gesture. "Well, with your rising celebrity, there has been a tremendous outpouring of support online from women who have connected with your story, Isobel. After scoping your website, The Passivist Activist, rather impressed. So I want you to become one of our content curators. Vlogging to viewers, sharing worthy bits of news that you are most passionate about. To become the face of a new cornerstone of the MTV brand.

Isobel's heart stopped, stuttered, then roared back to life. "Me?"

"Yes." Nneka laughed brightly, pleased at her stunned disbelief. "Now, I know it's not exactly something you're qualified for, but I believe you have tremendous potential. I believe in you. And whether you like the idea or not, people are interested in hearing what you have to say. And so am I." Uncrossing her legs, she circled around to the front of the coffee table, and given it had a solid oak pedestal, she sat down on top of it. "Kyle Reid isn't holed up inside his home, afraid of the world. You shouldn't be either."

God, Kyle...

Where she'd avoided the limelight, Kyle had flocked to it, providing several statements to the press. What I did is unfortunate and inexcusable. I regret I hurt someone I loved deeply, but sometimes pain is a process—a part of life—a learning experience.

Eight years summed up so...feebly.

"I won't...I can't—talk about what happened." This wasn't just a point of pride. It was about self-preservation.

Faced by her obvious pain, a gleam of pure empathy softened Nneka's eyes. "Don't worry. There's much bigger news to tell. You're the generation of viral scandals, and it sucks right now, but soon enough, this will blow over. And yes, maybe you'll pop up in someone's conversation from time to time, there's no sense in worrying about it anymore. What's done can't be undone." A mock shudder rippled through Nneka as she paused for thought. "I say thanks to the Goddess each morning all of my bar-top dancing days happened before the invention of cell phones and Twitter. I prefer to think of my god as a woman," she added with a wink. "Who needs another man in charge?"

Rising, Nneka plucked out a business card from her purse. "Think about it. Call me when you're ready and we'll hash out the details. I'm prepared to offer a competitive salary with an impressive benefits package. Something that I think will go a long way towards helping your father."

Showing Nneka out, Isobel clutched that card in her hands as she leaned against the door, so many rising emotions churned inside of her slender body, but at the forefront was...excitement.

Her goal in life was to effect great change. MTV wasn't exactly CNN or CTV, but it was a connection with young minds—minds she could help shape and mold with the variety of content she would bring to the roster. It was an incredible opportunity, one that never would have come to her without the attention of the viral scandal.

Thank you Kyle?

For the first time in almost two weeks, Isobel's mind hummed with joy and possibilities.