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Fourteen GRAY The day crawls by with the speed of geological time. Every minute feels like an hour, and every hour feels like a small eternity. I’ve checked my phone two hundred times to see if it has magically jumped to four o’clock. The cabin the guys rented boasts spacious rooms, and it’s private. There are enough bedrooms

Thirteen RHEA The afternoon lull at Mountain Mornings is my favorite time of day. The rush has died down, and the lunch crowd has left. I have a peaceful hour or two to restock, clean the espresso machine, or stand by the window watching this sleepy mountain town. The faint hiss of steam escapes the milk steamer, mingling

Twelve GRAY Ninety days. Three months. Thirteen weeks of learning how to be human again, and now I’m supposed to just walk out into the world and trust that all this healing will stick when faced with real-life stress and temptation. My duffel bag sits packed by the door of my room, everything I own

Eleven RHEA The drive over to Pine Falls takes exactly thirty-two minutes from my apartment above the bookstore. Yet it feels like both an eternity and no time at all. My hands shake slightly on the steering wheel as I follow the winding mountain roads. With each twist and turn, the car’s tires crunch over loose gravel and

Ten GRAY Two weeks. There are only fourteen days remaining until I leave this bubble and return to a world of bars on every corner, temptation behind a liquor-store door, and the kind of job stress that once sent me straight to the bottom of a bottle. Anxiety coils in my chest, restless and alive. Sobriety

Nine RHEA “Hello?” I say again, my heart pounding as I listen to the strained sound on the phone. For a moment, I think the call has dropped, that I’ve imagined it all. Then I hear him breathe all deep and shaky. “Rhea.” My name comes out like a prayer, like he can’t quite believe I’m real. “You answered.”

Eight GRAY Day sixty begins the same way as the others. My feet hit the floor at 5:30 in the morning. I recall the last time I set an early alarm for an award show. I woke up with a headache, a parched mouth, and a reminder of an old habit. But now, gratitude fills my chest. I unroll my

Seven RHEA “Oh, my goodness, you’re reading The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo! Isn’t it divine? I stayed up until three in the morning to finish it.” Mrs. Chen exclaims when she spots the book sitting on top of my purse as I lean down to sign the lease agreement. Her enthusiasm is infectious. The lease paper is crisp under my

Six GRAY “Hey, baby. It’s me again. Day seven.” I lean back in the phone booth, my daily ritual established as morning group, therapy, and evening meditation. I’ve had a week of one-sided conversations with Rhea’s voicemail—seven days of talking to her voice without actually speaking with her. “Had a breakthrough in individual therapy today. My therapist helped me

Five RHEA The notification sits on my phone. It waits to explode whatever peace I’ve managed to build in the north Georgia mountains. Two voicemails from an unknown number came through today, though I know exactly who they’re from. My heart recognized it was Gray before my brain caught up. I’ve been staring at my phone for three