Recovery was not a staircase. It was a tide - coming in, pulling back, crashing hard.
The night Maren relapsed, she didn't hide it. She walked into the meeting with her shoulders slumped, and her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. She expected coldness. Distance. Disappointment.
Instead, she was met with arms.
Lila wrapped her in a hug that smelled like lavender lotion; June rubbed her back in slow circles. Talia whispered, "We've all been there. You're still one of us."
Maren broke open. Not in shame - but in relief.
After the meeting, Sonia walked her to the parking lot. The moon hung low, a silver coin in the sky.
"You're not starting over," Sonia said. "You're continuing. Every time you come back, you're choosing yourself again."
Maren cried until her ribs hurt. Sonia didn't rush her.
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