Abby sagged lightly against Luka, seated on the bench beside her, as Maggie's furious denials died away. She'd had the sense not to throw a screaming temper fit in front of the judge, but that hadn't stopped her from arguing her case all the way down the hall, where her transport back to County waited.

Hadn't stopped her from staring at her daughter as she was escorted out, the fury in her eyes edged by hurt betrayal.

"I would have found a way to try, Abby."

Those nine words, reeling from the tape recorder, had finally convinced the judge where all of Abby's reasoning had failed. With a taped confession of the attempt, the ninety-day psych hold had finally been imposed.

Ninety days. Three months. An unfamiliar feeling of hope rose in Abby at the thought. Three months was long enough for the cycle to begin again, if it was going to - if Maggie wasn't better by then, she'd become irrational enough for the hold to be extended. And maybe...

Maybe ninety days of unceasing meds, counseling, and supervision would do what all the years of yo-yo therapy hadn't. Maybe...

Abby wouldn't let herself think 'cured'. Manic depression couldn't be 'cured', not yet. But - as an oncologist would say - maybe Maggie would go into remission.

The worst might still come, she knew. Her mother might behave like an angel for the next ninety days, leave the hospital, and fall right back into the cycle again. There was always that chance.

But whatever might come, for three months - she was free. Free, for the first time in her life, of the constant worry that she'd lived with since childhood. For three months, she wouldn't have to ask herself, 'What will Maggie do tomorrow? Where will she show up, and what will she do? What will I have to rescue her from?' Even during the long 'absent' months in her mother's cycle, there had always been that element of uncertainty. But now...

For three months at least, Maggie was safe. And Abby was free.