“You don’t,” he replied calmly. “No one does.” The honesty stunned me.
“Then what’s the point?” I asked, feeling hollow.
“What’s the point?” he echoed. “Or what’s your point?” The question silenced me. I’d never separated the two before. I’d assumed they were the same thing. But when he framed it that way, I realized they couldn’t be more different.
“What is my point?” I said aloud, unsure if I was asking him or myself.
“Whatever you decide it is,” he said, smiling. “So tell me, what do you want your point to be?”
I thought about it for a long moment. “I just want to remember who I am,” I said finally. “And I want to love the people who love me back. I’ve been pretty bad at that lately.”
Dr. Kahn uncrossed his legs and rested his hands on his thighs. “And that,” he said, “is something you do have control over. You may not control what happens to you, or to the people you love, but you always have control over how you respond.”
“Who’s picking you up?” he asked. The question pulled me back into the present. I realized I’d been quiet for longer than I thought, lost in memory. He hadn’t rushed me.
“Holden,” I said, a small smile finding its way to my lips. I missed him. And we had work to do—both of us. But for the first time, I understood we could do that work together. I was nervous. Embarrassed. I thought about how hard it must have been for him to come home from rehab all those times.
“He loves you, Blair,” Dr. Kahn said, as if reading my thoughts. “And he’ll be there for you, if you let him.” He stood, signaling the end of our time. “And with that,” he continued, “it’s time for us to part ways, for now. I believe in you. Don’t forget that, and don’t forget there’s no shame in asking for help. You have a strong support system. Let them support you.”
He offered his hand. I shook it. It was a small gesture, but something about it felt significant. Grounding. Hopeful. I walked slowly through the halls of the program, trying to steady the mix of emotions rising inside me. Each step brought conflicting feelings. I was excited to leave. Excited to see my parents, Holden, Cherry. I missed them deeply. The limited contact we’d had had only reinforced one thing—their love hadn’t changed. But there were unknowns. Here, inside these walls I hadn’t wanted to enter, I had been sheltered. The program had been its own kind of structure, a controlled environment, a temporary substitute for the fate I used to cling to. Outside, things would be unpredictable again. And I knew that now. That was the difference. It wasn’t a shock. It wasn’t a betrayal. It was simply a fact. And I could choose how I reacted to it.
As I packed my things into the small suitcase I had brought with me, memories of the day I arrived flooded my mind. Andof course, that day was filled with Austin. I had tried not to think about him when I first got here. I even told Dr. Kahn that, thinking he might be impressed by my ability to set aside boy problems when I had much bigger things to deal with. Like the part of my mind that was intent on starving me.
His answer surprised me, as usual. “You told me you wanted your point to be loving the people who love you,”he had said. “Being here, away from the world, is actually a good time to consider who you want to love back.”
So I did. I thought about Austin when my mind allowed me to. I thought about the way he made me feel. I thought about the time we spent together. But mostly, I thought about his words, and then about his actions. I thought about his words the night everything went wrong. I thought about his actions before he ever met me. I thought about what he said during the intervention, and what he did the morning after. It became a riddle I couldn’t solve. I weighed his actions against his words, and his words against his actions, over and over again. I tried to make them line up in a way that made sense. I couldn’t. And then one night, after the lights had gone out and the building had gone quiet, I realized something. Maybe there wasn’t a right answer. Austin had shown me who he was through his actions, just as clearly as he had through his words. And I had no control over either of them. What I did have control over was my reaction.
“Blair, honey,” Tawny said gently from the doorway. She was my favorite nurse, though I never told her that. “Your brother is here.”
“Okay,” I said softly, patting the top of my suitcase before setting it down on the floor.
“Come on,” she said, nodding toward the hall. “I’ll walk you out.” We walked mostly in silence. Not because there was nothing to say, but because my nerves had reached their peak. This was it. The end. Or maybe the beginning.
“Blair!” Holden’s voice reached me before I saw him. I caught a glimpse of him just seconds before his arms wrapped around my shoulders. I didn’t resist the hug. I leaned into it instead, letting myself be held. “I missed you, sis,” he whispered. I felt it settle in my chest, warm and steady.
“I missed you too,” I said. When he finally let go, I turned for one last look at the place I had called home for the past two weeks. Strangely, I felt calmer than I expected. Like finally, I was at peace with the uncertainty waiting for me.
“Mom and Dad are so excited to see you,” Holden said once we were safely inside our parents’ car and on the road home. “They wanted to come with me to get you, but I thought… you know. Maybe we had some air to clear.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, tearing my eyes away from the blurred stretch of scenery rushing past the window. “I guess we do.” I opened my mouth, then closed it again, deciding to let him speak first.
“I know I already told you this over the phone,” Holden said, his voice quieter now, “but I love you, sis. And that’s why I can’t say I’m sorry for telling everyone.” He glanced at me briefly, looking almost sheepish. “I am sorry that you’re struggling, though. And I hope you’ll let me be there for you.”
“I know,” I said. “I know you will.” I paused. “There’s never really a right way to do these things. I think I understand that now.”
“I guess not,” he chuckled softly, then sighed. “Feels like we’ve switched roles for a bit. It’s usually you in my seat, and me in yours.”
“How are you doing?” I asked. There was no panic in the question. I’d known Holden’s addiction long enough to recognize when something was wrong.
“Three months sober,” he said, a glint of pride in his eyes even as he kept them on the road.
“I’m proud of you,” I said, and I meant it. The feeling settled in my chest, warm and steady, like the muted orange glow of a sunrise.
“We can do this, Blair,” Holden said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “We can do this, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed, my throat tightening. But this time, it wasn’t pain that made it hard to breathe. It was hope.
The rest of the drive felt like simpler times. Holden sang along to whatever came on the radio, badly and without shame, and I laughed at him in response. It felt easy. Easier than life had felt in a long while. But as we passed the halfway point, the weight of the decision I’d made earlier pressed back in. I bit down on my lip. I had to do it. Even if I was scared.
