Chapter 1

Bella's POV:

"Grief. That's what my life has turned into," I said, my voice a soft tremor echoing my inner turmoil. "I went from being a depressed teenage dirtbag who experimented with every single drug she could find at 14. Then I got myself into a rehab where I met a little girl who became my best friend. I got better for her, so she would know she could leave and not die in there like others. She managed to get out, but then she passed away a year and a half ago. The girl I got better for, the reason I fought so hard, passed away. They say you should get better for yourself, but what good is it if you have no one to celebrate your progress with? I mean, I should be proud of myself, and I am, but life sucks, and drugs just numb the pain. I relapsed a lot after she died, but a friend who helped me get better before is helping me again. And thanks to you wonderful people, I feel like my life is getting better and easier. So, I can proudly say I'm six months sober," I declared, my voice growing stronger as I spoke.

I raised my Styrofoam cup, half filled with water, in a toast. The room erupted into cheers, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself a small, genuine smile before retreating back into my protective shell.

I had been attending these meetings since three months after Amari died. Daniel had cunningly tricked me into coming here, promising a late-night coffee. In hindsight, I should have known that no one serves coffee at that hour, but there I was, the naive fool, walking into a coffee shop where they held group therapy. The warmth of acceptance in the room and the shared struggles made it a haven of sorts, a place where I could admit my vulnerability without judgment.

"Mila, care to share?" said Chairperson Grace, her voice gentle yet encouraging. Mila awkwardly glanced around the room, her eyes uncertain, but Grace offered her a warm smile. Mila was one of the most challenged among us. She struggled to stay sober, her longest streak being a mere two weeks. Yet, deep down, I believed in her resilience. Despite her setbacks, I knew she was putting in the effort, and whether she believed it or not, we all knew she'd find her way to recovery.

"Oh, Uhm, okay," Mila stammered, sitting up straighter. She was about to begin her story, but my attention was diverted by a movement near the door, causing me to tune out everything around me. Looking out the window, I spotted Daniel standing outside, waving his phone frantically. I squinted, trying to figure out what he wanted. Despite the strong urge to give him the middle finger for interrupting, I ignored him and turned my focus back to Mila's story.

"So, after that happened, I just kind of felt like I should stop using, but it's hard, you know?" Mila continued, her voice laced with vulnerability. "I've been using since—" Her words came to an abrupt halt as a phone dinged drawing everyone's attention. 

"Guys, we all agreed that we would have our phones on silence during group," Grace reminded us, her tone gentle yet firm. A round of nods and murmured agreements passed through the room. This time, I knew it was my phone because my ringtone, 'Unholy' by Sam Smith, blared from where we kept our bags. Closing my eyes, I muttered a curse. When I opened my eyes, I found everyone staring at me.

"I'm so sorry; I'll just... yeah, uhm," I stammered, quickly getting up and rushing over to my purse. Opening it, I found my phone vibrating. Picking it up, I silenced it, my scowl deepening as I read the caller ID. He was a real jerk for calling me right now.

"Uhm, I'm so sorry, but it's the hospital; my mom must have been admitted again," I said, quickly putting my phone back in my purse. I hooked my purse over my arm, turning to face the group, and they gave me apologetic glances.

"Oh, uhm, you can go; we're almost finished here anyway," Grace said, her gaze sympathetic as she looked at the group.

"I'm sorry for cutting you off, Mila," I said with an apologetic smile as I walked past her.

"You did me a favor," Mila grumbled, her tone half-joking, and I couldn't help but smile at her response. 

Heading towards the door, I grabbed the handle, making the door hit the little bell on top with a ding as it opened. A cold breeze swept in as soon as I stepped out. Closing the door behind me, I took my gloves out of my purse and put them on, preparing for the chill in the air. I looked around, trying to spot the person who had interrupted our session. Glancing down the street, I found him leaning against his car, seemingly waiting. 

Feeling a surge of determination, I took my scarf off, marching purposefully toward him.