"Not a chance." He settles back into the chair, his hand still wrapped around mine, warm and solid and certain. "Told you. Whatever you need."
I want to argue, but exhaustion is pulling me under like a riptide.
My eyelids feel heavy again, and this time I let them fall.
Just before sleep claims me, I hear his voice, quiet and rough with emotion.
"I'm proud of you, Van. For saying yes."
Proud of me.
When all I've done is agree to try.
When I've spent years giving him nothing but grief and broken promises and hospital visits at three in the morning.
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."
"Youalwayssay that." Leah's voice cracks, anger giving way to something rawer. "You always thinkthis timewill 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."
