But I meant it.
“I messed up,” I say. “More than once. I’m lucky they let me keep the badge.”
What Idon’tsay is the part that still chews at me:
I should’ve stepped down myself. Long before they asked. When I realized, I had a problem, but lets be honest, that didn’t happen till much later, even after Lore kicked me out, I still made excuses, still drank.
I see her throat work as she nods, smoothing her expression like she’s trying not to show me she’s surprised I can be honest now.
I wasn’t always like this, Lore.
I didn’t wake up one day and say, “Let me destroy everything I love.” It started small. A beer after a tough shift. Then two. Then four. Then it became what I looked forward to the most. What I planned around. What I became addicted to without even realizing.
In rehab, almost every story I heard sounded like mine, people who swore up and down they didn’t have a problem, even as they twitched through withdrawal or cried about the families they’d lost.
That was me.
I nearly missed the birth of my daughter. I barely remember her first months. All becauseone drinkturned into finishing the whole bottle.
I learned responsibility the ugliest way possible, by realizing too late who I became.
Lore steps back then, creating distance, physical and otherwise. She moves across the room and sits on Milo’s bed, her fingers picking at the blanket’s edge like she’s trying to distract herself.
“So… uh.” She clears her throat, not meeting my eyes.
She’s working up to something. Something big.
Something I’m not sure I’m ready to hear, but I’ll take whatever she gives, even if it tears me apart.
“I’ve been thinking about what we should do with Milo.”
“What do you mean?” I shift Agnes on my shoulder, bouncing her gently.
She gives me a look like the answer should be obvious. “His behavior. The way he’s acting lately. I’m worried.”
“He’s a kid,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Isn’t it normal?”
“Not like this.” Her voice is quiet, steady. “He had a big change recently. Kids struggle with new babies, sure, but add a separation on top of that…” She trails off, swallowing. “It’s a lot for him.”
I sit down slowly, Agnes still perched on my shoulder, and wait for the part she’s working toward, because this isn’t just about tantrums or school reluctance.
It’s about everything I’ve put him through.
Lore keeps her eyes on Agnes. “I was… thinking about Orange Cove. It’s a family therapy center, right?”
I nod, “Ya.”
“Well, they must have child psychologists. And it’s already covered by our insurance.”
“You want to send him to therapy?” I ask, not against it, just making sure I heard her right.
She looks at me then. “Not permanently. But at least one session, so we can get some feedback and advice.”
I search her face. “You’re sure?”
“I am.”
“Alright.” I nod. “We’ll set it up.”
