A big THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed. A short update today, I hope you like it and I'd love to know what you think!

Sandy was perched on the edge of the pool, his feet dangling in the clear blue water. An eight-year-old Seth was in the pool, waiting for Sandy to throw him the beach ball that he held in his hands. The California sun glared down on them and the sound of the ocean echoed from below. Sandy was teasing his son and Kirsten could hear Seth's laughter ring out. She watched from the kitchen as Sandy threw the ball, hitting Seth's head and bouncing away from him on the other side. Sandy's head tipped back as he laughed, while Seth moaned at his dad.

A young boy appeared, carrying the beach ball. Kirsten had never seen him before, but Seth and Sandy seemed to know him. She watched as he joined in their laughter, throwing the ball over Seth's head to Sandy and catching it when it was returned. Kirsten considered the young boy in her back yard: his blond hair and blue eyes; the way his head hung slightly and how his smile would brighten up his serious face.

Ryan?

No, that wasn't right. Ryan didn't belong in this memory.

The sky turned black as dark clouds filled the sky. A crash of thunder sounded and rain started to pour down. Kirsten peered out the window, searching for her family. Lightning lit the sky momentarily and she saw them. Seth was floundering in the pool and Sandy dived in to help him. Ryan ran to the edge and Kirsten could only watch as he slid on the patio, falling into the water.

"No!"

The sky turned dark again and Kirsten rushed to the door. It was locked. Why was it locked? She struggled with the door as it rattled in its frame.

The key. Where was the key?

Another fork of lightning and Kirsten looked towards the pool. The water was crashing in waves as the wind blew strong. Where were they?

She tugged at the door again, struggling with the handle.

"Sandy! Seth! Ryan!"

She screamed, over and over again, pummelling the solid glass window.

She could see their arms flailing in the air, reaching out for her; could hear them screaming her name back, calling out for her.

"Kirsten!"

"Mom!"

She couldn't open the door. She couldn't get to them. She couldn't help them.

She was powerless.

Kirsten woke with a jolt. She sat up, breathless, and squeezed her eyes shut.

'It was just a dream; it was just a dream,' she repeated in her head.

Pain shot through her body as she shivered under the thick sheets. Bringing her knees up to her chin, she pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. She buried her head into the soft material, wiping away the tears that fell.

'It was just a dream; it was just a dream; it was just a dream.'

Her breathing steadied and Kirsten lifted her head. She looked around her room. It was as bare as it had been when she moved in, except for the photo frame that sat next to her bed. She didn't want to add any homely touches to it. It wasn't home; it would never be home.

She hated this room. She missed her own bedroom. She missed her own bed, her own furniture. She missed the pictures that hung on the walls and the photos that decorated the surfaces. She missed the view looking out to the ocean.

She missed Sandy. She missed Seth. She missed Ryan.

She missed her father.

She even missed Julie.

It was her third night in rehab and the first night she had managed to fall asleep without the help of a sedative. Even when she did sleep, her dreams were full of nightmares. Her body was suffering the effects of alcohol withdrawal and she felt like hell. She was hot then cold, hot then cold; she couldn't sleep; her hands shook, making the simplest of tasks difficult. Everything she ate tasted bland and her stomach refused to keep anything down.

Most of her time she had spent alone in her room. She didn't want to see or talk to anyone. She had been to her first group meeting earlier that day and listened to the other patients talk – their stories, their reasons, their excuses. Their eyes burned her as she felt them watching her, waiting for her to speak, waiting for her to give her excuses. She didn't. She sat, sunk in her chair, her eyes lowered and her arms crossed protectively across her chest.

She kept telling herself that she wasn't like them. Ok, so she'd been drinking too much lately but she could control it, couldn't she? She could stop if she wanted to, couldn't she?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Sandy didn't think she could, that's why he had brought her here.

And if she was honest with herself, she knew he was right. Because more than anything right now, she wanted a drink. If she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, she could taste the alcohol, feeling the cold liquid running down her throat and through her body. It made the craving even worse and she shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

Kirsten stretched out her body and lay back down in the bed, staring at the ceiling. She ached from being so tired, but her mind was wide awake and she knew that sleep would not come easily.

Tomorrow she would face her first her first proper counselling session with Dr Halliwell. Talking was compulsory, she knew that, but talking wasn't something she found easy with many people. The only person who knew her – really knew her – was Sandy; but even he didn't want to listen any more. She had pushed him too far, she had pushed him away. He had sent her to rehab because he didn't want to deal with her problems any more.

No. He loved her. He was trying to help her. He loved her.

She thought about her family, wondering what their lives were like without her. Were they happier without her? Did they sit around the table, talking and laughing, more relaxed now she was out of their lives?

No. They needed her. She was one-quarter of that family and it wasn't complete without her. They needed her like she needed them…didn't they?

Turning on her side, Kirsten curled up into a ball. Her mind was constantly tortured with these thoughts, no matter how hard she fought them. Her body started to shake and she gripped the blankets so hard that her knuckles turned white, holding it closely around her.

Were they right? Was she an alcoholic?

Addicted.

Dependent.

Alcoholic.

Her pillow caught the tears that fell from her eyes. How did she get to this? When did she become this person?

Her breath was shaky as she inhaled deeply. Ok, so maybe she did have a problem. But problems could be solved; they could be overcome. She could overcome this.

Was she strong enough? What if she couldn't do it alone? What if she couldn't do it at all?

No. She would prove to Sandy and Seth and Ryan that she could fight this thing.

She would prove it to herself.