I had written this chapter a little before Valentine's Day, but decided to revamp it all together. It's been quite a delay, and am so glad to be bringing this story back to life.

When I returned home, I settled down in my office and began trying to distract myself from looking at the clock every five minutes. At one point, I ended up slamming the binder a little too hard on the desk and stepped away to the bedroom to change into something a little more comfortable.

I felt a bit calmer when I returned about ten minutes later—although not by much. At first it had been way too easy to ignore that my family would never appreciate what had been offered to them. I could turn to pills when I was numb, or things were getting too hard; drinking too much, when I no longer wanted to hear that voice in the back of my head that kept telling me that I was absolutely wrong in what I was doing.

It was the opposite now and those thoughts were strong and pressing in my mind—especially now that I was alone. Suddenly the prescription drugs that I had been taking made me feel vulnerable. For one weak moment, I went rifling through my drawer—only to find it empty.

My first response was anger, because I knew who had taken it. After I had calmed a little, I knew that I didn't have the luxury of popping pills into my mouth, before it set in that I was sitting here alone, torn between what I should do. And that's when I felt my calmness slowly slipping away from me.

My body was now shaking and my knuckles turned white as I grasped the railing; my head was now spinning and the thought of Sophie or Kevin finding me down at the bottom of the stairs, caused a cold shudder to run through me.

By the time that I had gotten to the top, I was sobbing—resisting the urge to lie down right there in the hall. I wanted to get to my bed, but only managed to get to the frame of the door when my vision began closing in. Losing my balance, I succumbed to blackness.

"Mom…you need to get up. Please."

Please? That was definitely a word that I hadn't heard in a long time. And then it dawned on me that Sophie must have found me on the floor. With my eyes still closed, I let out a silent groan in my head. It was too much to hope that she wasn't thinking of the worst scenarios possible. One being: my mom is a drunk.

The thought prompted me to open my eyes. I wasn't quite up for talking, so I pushed myself so I was leaning against the side of the bed. Sophie followed but at a slower pace and then ended up sitting on the chest near the end of the bed.

"What's going on?" Leaning my head back against the soft fabric, I closed my eyes. "Dad told me that you've been sick?"

"I had food poisoning, so the doctor kept me overnight." As I rubbed my hand over my cheek, I realized that I was still shaking from earlier, and knew by the look on Sophie's face that she had noticed it too.

"I just found you on the floor. I think we could do with a little less suspense." Sophie reminded me, as she slowly pulled the blanket up to my shoulders. "What is going on? I mean I know you and dad have your differences, but not like this." Closing my eyes, I knew that she couldn't hate me more than she already did. "Fine . . . then I'm calling an ambulance."

"Your father is angry because I relapsed."

Sophie turned back to me sharply, walking back towards me. "I remember you promising that it would never happen again."

"I know."

"Why?" She shook her head, still in clear disbelief. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"No. Drugs are not some disease—it's an addiction and always will be an addiction." I enunciated those last few words, hoping that she realized the importance of what I was trying to tell her.

After pacing a couple times, she posed the question. "If you knew this was more than just an addiction, then why aren't you talking to someone?"

I felt a burning anger inside of me—almost embarrassment. She had been too young to understand when my addiction happened the first time around. Kevin and I had never talked to her or Patrick about it much—other than when it was questioned and only talked about it briefly. "It's not easy to come out and tell someone that you have an addiction."

"He didn't act like that when you told him the first time, did he?"

Sighing, I reminisced on the day that he sent me packing. His cover story was that I was going to visit relatives for a little while—kind of like some getaway trip. "He was shocked; agreed to send me to a rehab facility and while I was there, he did everything he could to keep things quiet."

"So, basically you lied to everyone."

"We kept it quiet—"

"I know." She rolled her eyes, having heard the phrase many times. "So it didn't ruin dad's career. It's all about dad's career every second of the day. Sometimes I think he'd rather serve his country rather than being home with his family." As I opened my mouth to protest, her next words stung. "And don't say you weren't thinking it, because you know it's true."

I felt myself go pale, almost to point of lightheadedness. For a split-second, I thought it was because she knew the truth, and I had been holding my breath in fear for too long. However, that was quickly replaced with dread, when I realized my withdrawal symptoms were getting progressively worse.

"We'll talk about this later. Right now—I need you to take me to the off-base hospital just outside the base: Bon Secours-St Francis Xavier Hospital."

"Hang on. Before we go—" She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Other than dad—who else knows about this?"

"Denise and a few other people in our group." Turning, I used the bed for leverage as I stood up. She stepped forward, even looking slightly uneasy at my honesty and looped her arm around mine. The house was silent, besides the slight creak of the railing as we moved downstairs.

She helped me sit on the couch. "I'm just going to grab my wallet from upstairs."

"Can you grab my purse from the kitchen? I'll need an ID to show at the gate."

"Yeah." And she disappeared into the kitchen. I sighed softly, trying to keep my own questions at bay. The fact that I couldn't answer any of them was a scary thought, as they were all scattered and strewn around.

Sophie reappeared with my purse in tow and set it down beside me as she passed by. I reached in to make sure that my own wallet was still in there, which is also when I saw that Denise had called and left a message. I had the initial thought to check it later-hesitating too long to make a decision before Sophie came bounding back down the steps.

"Ready?" She had a black purse hanging off her shoulder. I gave her a simple nod, letting my phone drop back into my own purse.