Chapter 22
Corine
The morning light crept into my bedroom like an uninvited guest, slipping through the gaps in my curtains and painting everything in warm, golden hues.
But inside me, there was only cold.
Stillness.
Numbness that clung to my bones like frostbite.
My heart felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry—empty and brittle.
The images from last night were branded into my mind: the open window, the weightlessness of standing on the edge, the sound of Kyle’s small voice piercing through the fog, and my mother’s arms wrapped around me, dragging me back to life.
I had come so close.
Too close.
And that terrified me more than anything.
I sat at the edge of my bed, my hands trembling as I reached for my phone. My finger hovered over the screen, pausing over a name I hadn’t called in months.
Dr. Michaels.
The last time we spoke, I told him I was fine. That I was managing. But that was a lie.
Swallowing hard, I pressed the call button and brought the phone to my ear.
It rang once. Twice.
Then—“Dr. Michaels speaking.”
My voice wavered. “It’s… Corinne. Corinne Holt”
A silence fell, soft and immediate. Then his voice returned, laced with careful concern. “Corinne. I’m glad to hear from you. How are you feeling today?”
How was I feeling? Like my soul had cracked down the middle. Like a ghost of a mother who almost left her babies behind. My voice broke as I answered, “I need help. I—I can’t do this anymore. Not on my own.”
He was quiet for a moment. Not the kind of silence that judged, but the kind that made room for truth. “You’re incredibly brave to say that,” he said softly. “Thank you for calling me.”
I closed my eyes, letting the shame roll over me. “Last night, I almost… I almost left them. My kids. I don’t even know how I got there. I just—I can’t live like this. And they deserve better than a mother who’s barely holding on.”
“You don’t have to explain everything right now,” he said. “But I’m here. And I believe you. Corinne, I want to suggest something—there’s an inpatient program I oversee. It’s intensive, yes, but it’s designed for people who feel like they’ve reached their breaking point.”
“Inpatient,” I repeated numbly. “Like... a mental hospital?”
“Yes,” Dr. Michaels said gently. “But not the kind you see in movies. It’s a healing environment. You’d have access to a full care team—psychiatrists, therapists, group therapy, even trauma recovery specialists. Depending on your evaluation, we might explore electroconvulsive therapy. We’ve had patients emerge stronger, more stable, and more hopeful than they ever thought possible.”
“How long?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Six months to a year,” he replied. “It depends on your progress and your needs. It’s a commitment, Corinne. But it might be what saves you.”
My breath hitched. Six months. Maybe more. Away from Kyle. Away from Astrid.
“I want to do it,” I whispered, and even I was surprised at the certainty in my voice. “I have to. I can’t keep surviving just enough to fake it.”
“Then I’ll make the arrangements,” he said gently. “You’ll be admitted in three days. Use this time to prepare. Talk to your family. Arrange custody. Say your goodbyes. And Corinne… thank you for choosing to stay.”
When I hung up, I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and cinnamon toast. My mother stood by the stove, slowly stirring milk into a pan. She turned the moment I walked in.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly. “You slept at all?”
I shook my head. “No. I need to talk to you.”
She sat down instantly, her face lined with worry. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath, willing the tears to stay put. “I called Dr. Michaels. I’m admitting myself into an inpatient program. Six months to a year.”
Her eyes filled instantly. “Oh, Corinne…”
“I can’t keep pretending,” I said, the words tumbling out fast. “I almost... I almost left. Last night, if it weren’t for Kyle’s voice, I wouldn’t be standing here. I need help. Real help. And I need you to take care of them while I’m gone.”
She got up, crossed the room, and pulled me into her arms. I crumbled against her.
“We’ll manage,” she whispered fiercely. “You focus on healing. Kyle and Astrid will be loved and safe. I promise you that.”
That afternoon, I sat in the lawyer’s office with my mother beside me as I signed the temporary custody papers. I didn’t even hear half of what he said—just the thump of my heart, the silent scream of my maternal instincts telling me I was abandoning them.
“You’re not leaving forever,” my mom said softly. “You’re fighting to come back stronger. They’ll understand one day.”
.
Three Days Later
The sun was rising when I stood in the hallway, watching Kyle sit on the living room floor with his coloring book. Astrid, only six months old, was in her rocker, gurgling happily at the ceiling fan.
My suitcase was by the door.
“Mommy, where are you going?” Kyle asked, looking up at me with those wide, curious eyes that saw everything.
I knelt beside him, pulling him into my arms. “I’m going to a special place, baby. Somewhere I can get better. So I can smile again. So I can be the mommy you deserve.”
His little brows furrowed. “You’re sick?”
“In here,” I said, placing his hand gently on my chest. “My heart is a little sick. But I’m going to get it fixed.”
Tears welled in his eyes. “Can’t you stay?”
“I wish I could,” I whispered, holding him tighter than I ever had. “But Nana will be here, and she’s going to take amazing care of you and Astrid. You’re going to be brave for me, okay?”
He nodded slowly, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Can I draw you pictures?”
“Please,” I said with a soft smile. “And save them all. I’ll need something to look at on the hard days.”
Then I turned to Astrid. My mother brought her over, and I took my baby into my arms. She cooed at me, her chubby fists curling in my shirt. I kissed her soft hair, breathing in that warm baby scent like it was oxygen.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her ear, my tears finally falling. “I wanted to be stronger for you. And I will be. I’ll come back whole.”
She gurgled in reply, blissfully unaware.
“Okay,” my mom said gently, her voice thick. “It’s time.”
We drove in silence.
The hospital was clean, modern, surrounded by quiet trees. It didn’t look scary. But to me, it might as well have been the edge of the world.
At the entrance, I turned to my mother one last time. Her face was streaked with tears.
“You can do this,” she said, cupping my cheeks. “Every step you take inside is a step back to your children. Remember that.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
Then I stepped forward.
The door opened with a soft click. A nurse in pale blue scrubs gave me a small, welcoming smile. “Corinne Woods? We’ve been expecting you.”
I looked back one last time.
Kyle was waving from the car window, his face pressed to the glass. My mother held Astrid in her arms, rocking gently.
I lifted my hand. A wave. A promise.
And then I stepped inside.
The door closed behind me, and for the first time in a long time—I let myself breathe.
I was here.
I had chosen to stay.
This was the first step.