Letting her go.
The drive to the facility takes less than an hour.
It's a beautiful place—I made sure of that.
A sprawling campus surrounded by trees, with buildings that look more like cabins than hospitals.
The kind of place where you might actually be able to heal, if you're willing to do the work.
Vanna stares out the window as we pull up to the main building, her hands clenched in her lap.
"It's nice," she says, but her voice is hollow.
"Yeah." I put the truck in park but don't turn off the engine. "It is."
We sit there for a long moment, neither of us willing to move.
To take the next step. To say goodbye.
"I don't know if I can do this," Vanna whispers.
"You can." I reach over and take her hand. "You're the strongest person I know, Vanna. You just have to believe it."
"What if I fail? What if I come back and nothing's changed?"
"Then we'll figure it out. Together. Like we always do."
She turns to look at me, and there are tears streaming down her face. "I don't want to leave you."
"I don't want you to leave either." My own voice is rough, cracking around the edges. "But this isn't goodbye. This is... this is see you later. Twelve weeks, Van. That's all. And then you're coming home to me."
She nods, but I can see she doesn't quite believe it.
That's okay. I'll believe enough for both of us.
I get out of the truck and walk around to her side, opening the door and helping her down.
Her bag is small—just enough for a few days until Aunt Ellie can bring more—and I carry it for her as we walk toward the entrance.
A woman meets us at the door.
She's kind-looking, with gray-streaked hair and warm eyes, and she introduces herself as one of the intake counselors.
She explains the process, the rules, and the schedule.
I hear the words but don't really process them.
All I can focus on is Vanna's hand in mine, the way her fingers tremble against my palm.
"We'll take good care of her," the counselor promises me.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
And then it's time.
Vanna turns to face me, and for a moment we just stand there, looking at each other.
Twenty-two years of history stretch between us—the good and the bad and everything in between.
