Chapter 23
Corine
A Month Later
It had been thirty-four days, ten hours, and I'd finally stopped counting the minutes.
The facility wasn't as cold as I thought it'd be. At first, yes-it felt sterile. Like grief in a white coat. But now... now I was starting to breathe again, even if it still hurt a little to inhale.
They kept the windows locked, but the sun still poured in every morning like it was trying to reach me. Some days, I let it.
I sat in the common room, sketching in a journal Dr. Bennett had given me. Not because I wanted to draw, but because she told me I could write anything except what I posted online. "No captions. No filters. Just you," she said.
I was halfway through sketching Astrid's hands-those tiny little fists that used to flail at 3 a.m.-when the new girl walked in.
She was wearing the same pale blue sweats we all were, but there was something about her. Chin held high, like she refused to be broken, even though her frame was brittle and shaking. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, coolly, like she was already calculating who to avoid.
And then... they landed on me.
For a second, something flickered. Recognition? Pity? I couldn't tell.
She turned her head and walked to the far corner, sitting cross-legged with her back straight like a soldier. A ghost of a girl.
Her name was Brittany Ashford. The senator's daughter. That senator.
I only found out the next day, when Sylvia whispered it to me during group therapy, like she was passing me state secrets.
"She's a mess," Sylvia said, voice low but not unkind. "Came in late last night. Parents dumped her here on the hush."
"She looks like she hasn't eaten in weeks," I whispered back.
"That's because she hasn't. Bulimia. Severe."
"And the scars?"
Sylvia nodded. "Both kinds."
I looked back at Brittany, who was staring blankly ahead while Tate spoke about his latest nightmare. She didn't flinch. Didn't cry. Didn't even blink.
But I knew that look. I'd worn it before. The hollow stare of someone holding themselves together with invisible thread.
---
Dr. Bennett's Office - Later That Day
The sessions with Dr. Bennett were nothing like Dr. Michaels. She didn't ease in. She peeled. Slowly, meticulously. Every session a new layer.
Today, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"You've stopped asking to leave," she said.
"I stopped pretending I was ready," I answered, tracing my finger along a seam in the couch cushion.
She nodded. "Progress."
"It doesn't feel like it."
"Progress rarely does. It feels like failure at first. Like surrender."
I swallowed. "I almost did it. That night. I wasn't trying to make a point. I really wanted to go."
Bennett didn't react. She was good at that-no flinching, no shock. Just calm. Contained.
"I believe you," she said. "And I'm really, really glad you didn't."
"I think about it still. Not like before. But... the ache's still there."
She nodded. "The ache will be there until you make peace with the version of you who stood on that ledge."
"I don't want to make peace with her. I want to forget she existed."
Bennett met my eyes, her tone gentle but firm. "Corinne... she saved you. That broken, exhausted woman called out to her son. She stepped down. She's part of you. The part that chose to stay."
I stared at her. My throat thickened, and I blinked hard.
"She's not a failure," Bennett added softly. "She's the reason you're still breathing."
---
Three Days Later
I heard Astrid's cry before I even saw her.
The facility had a private visiting room for "sensitive guests," which I'd quickly learned was code for we don't want paparazzi near your baby. My mother was already inside when I walked in, Astrid in her arms, Kyle sitting cross-legged on the floor building a block tower.
"Mommy!" Kyle ran to me, nearly knocking me over.
I dropped to my knees and hugged him like I hadn't seen him in years. Maybe, in some way, I hadn't.
"You smell like crayons," I said into his hair.
He giggled. "I made you a picture! It's us and Spidey and Astrid and the sun."
I kissed his forehead. "That's my favorite lineup."
Astrid whimpered, and my mom handed her over gently. "She's teething. But she smiles when she hears your voice."
I pressed her to my chest, breathing in that sweet, milky scent. Her tiny fingers tugged at my shirt, and I smiled through my tears.
"They miss you," my mother whispered. "We all do."
"I'm trying, Mom," I said, my voice breaking. "I really am."
"I know, baby. I know."
I looked up and noticed one of the nurses watching from the glass. A few other patients had taken notice too. Whispers had already started-That's Corinne Holt. The model. The influencer. The one with the suicide scare. The one with a destroyed marriage.
They looked at me like I was some fallen angel. A warning sign. Or worse, a headline.
I didn't care. Not today.
---
Evening - The Lounge
Tate threw a chip at my head.
"You're zoning out again," he teased.
"I was reflecting," I said, stealing one of his Oreos. "You should try it sometime."
"Therapy already turning you poetic," Sylvia grinned, braiding her hair.
"I'm still a mess," I said. "Just a slightly self-aware one."
Brittany was sitting across the room, flipping through a notebook. She hadn't spoken to anyone yet. Not really.
"I don't think she's spoken a full sentence since she got here," Tate muttered.
"She watches everything, though," Sylvia said.
I stood. "Maybe she's waiting for someone to go first."
I crossed the room and sat across from her.
"You sketch too?" I asked gently.
She glanced up. Her eyes were sharp. Exhausted. Suspicious.
"Not really," she said. "Just helps me focus."
"I get that."
A beat.
"I'm Corinne."
"I know who you are," she said flatly. "Instagram. Vogue. The ledge."
It hit like a slap-but she didn't say it cruelly. Just... honestly.
"Yeah," I said, "that was me."
She stared at me a second longer. Then her voice softened.
"You climbed back in."
I nodded.
"I don't know if I could," she added, quieter.
"You don't have to yet," I said. "You just have to stay."
A long pause. Then-
"I'm Brittany."
I smiled. "I know who you are too."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me."
But her lips twitched-just a little. And for the first time since she arrived, I saw a flicker of something that hadn't been there before.
Hope.