Chapter 1 #3
But maybe that's the first step. Maybe saying yes is the hardest part.
I drift off with his hand in mine and something fragile blooming in my chest.
Hope.
It's terrifying.
I wake to arguing.
Hushed voices, sharp and urgent, just outside my door.
The words are muffled, but the tone is clear—anger barely contained.
Frustration boiling over.
I recognize both voices immediately.
Garrett. And Leah.
"—can't keep doing this, Garrett. You're killing yourself for someone who doesn't want to be saved."
"She said yes this time. She's going to rehab."
A bitter laugh, high and brittle. "And how many times has she 'said yes' before? How many times have you believed her, only to get another call at God knows what hour? How many times have I had to watch you fall apart?"
"This is different."
"You always say that." Leah's voice cracks, anger giving way to something rawer.
"You always think this time will be the time everything changes.
But it never does, does it? She comes home, she's clean for a few weeks, maybe a month, and then something happens and she's right back where she started.
And you're right back in this hospital, holding her hand, making excuses—"
"I don't make excuses."
"You make nothing but excuses! 'She's trying.
' 'She's been through so much.' 'You don't understand addiction.
'" Leah's voice is trembling now. "I understand that she's killing herself, and you're letting her take you down too.
I understand that I have one brother left in this world, and I'm watching him destroy himself for a woman who chooses heroin over him every single time. "
I should close my eyes.
Pretend to be asleep.
But I can't look away from the sliver of light coming through the cracked door, can't stop myself from straining to hear every painful word.
"She's my wife, Leah."
"And I'm your sister." The words are raw with pain.
"I'm the one who has to watch you fall apart every time she relapses.
I'm the one who has to pick up the pieces when she disappears.
I'm the one who holds you together while she tears you apart.
" Her voice breaks completely. "I can't keep doing this either, Garrett.
I can't keep watching you wait for a woman who's already gone. "
Silence.
Long and heavy.
I can imagine them standing there in the hallway—two people I've hurt in different ways.
Garrett with his endless, inexhaustible hope.
Leah with her exhausted fury and her fierce love for her brother.
"I know what she's cost you," Garrett finally says, his voice soft. "I know about the jewelry."
My stomach drops.
"Don't." Leah's voice goes cold. "Don't you dare bring that up."
"I'm just saying—I know it's not just about me. I know she hurt you too."
"She stole from me, Garrett. She stole Mom's necklace—the only thing I had left of her—and she pawned it for drug money. That's not just hurt. That's—" Leah's voice catches. "I can't get that back. I can never get that back."
Shame floods through me, hot and choking.
The necklace.
A delicate gold chain with a small heart pendant, singed slightly at the edges from the fire that took their parents.
Leah's only physical connection to a mother she barely remembers.
I took it from her jewelry box while she was at work.
Told myself I'd get it back before she noticed.
Told myself I just needed one more hit, just enough to get right, and then I'd figure it out.
I never figured it out. I never got it back.
And I've never had the courage to tell her I'm sorry.
"I have to try one more time," Garrett says quietly. "If I give up on her now, I'll never forgive myself."
"And if she destroys you?"
"Then at least I'll know I did everything I could."
More silence.
Then footsteps, receding down the hall.
Leah walking away.
When Garrett comes back into the room a moment later, his expression is carefully blank, but I can see the cracks beneath the surface.
"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"I heard." There's no point in pretending otherwise.
He sighs, sinking back into the chair with a weariness that goes bone-deep. "Leah's worried about me."
"She should be." I stare at the ceiling, unable to meet his eyes. "She's right, you know. About all of it."
"Vanna—"
"I've put you through hell. Both of you.
" I force myself to turn my head, to face him.
"I stole from your sister, Garrett. I took something that mattered to her more than anything, something that survived the fire that killed your parents, and I pawned it for drug money. She has every right to hate me."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't deny it.
How can he?
We both know exactly what I've done.
Every ugly detail.
"That's not the point right now," he says.
"That's exactly the point." I push myself up straighter, ignoring the way my body protests.
"You're asking me to go to rehab, to get clean, to be better.
But even if I do... some things can't be fixed.
Some damage is permanent. I can never give Leah back what I stole from her.
I can never give you back the years I wasted. I can't undo any of it."
"Maybe not." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze steady and unwavering. "But you can't undo the past by giving up on the future. You can only move forward and try to be different. Better."
"What if better isn't good enough?"
"Then at least it's something." He reaches for my hand again. "One day at a time, right? That's what they say in the meetings?"
One day at a time.
One hour.
One minute.
One breath.
Whatever it takes to get from here to there.
I look at our hands—his so steady, mine trembling slightly from the early stages of withdrawal.
We held hands like this on our wedding day, both of us crying happy tears.
We held hands the first time he told me he loved me, sitting on the tailgate of his truck watching the sunset paint the mountains gold.
We've held hands through funerals and failures and too many hospital visits to count.
Maybe we can hold hands through this too.
"Okay," I say again, and this time the word feels less like surrender and more like a choice.
His fingers tighten around mine.
One day at a time.
Starting now.