Chapter 3

"Hey," Sarah said softly. Her voice cracked on the single syllable.

Shane couldn't find words. She stepped back, leaving the door open. The pipe lay on the carpet, the crystals scattered like tiny shards of glass. The foil bundle was crumpled beside it. She waited for the lecture, the disappointment, the tears of frustration. But Sarah didn't say anything about the mess. She walked past Shane, her boots crunching on the broken pipe, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Sit with me," Sarah said, patting the mattress.

Shane's legs gave out. She sank to the floor instead, her back against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest. The tears came again, hot and silent. She pressed her face into her arms, ashamed to let Sarah see her like this.

Sarah didn't move. She just sat there, her hands folded in her lap, waiting. The clock on the nightstand ticked. A car passed on the street below. Finally, Sarah spoke.

"I've been driving around for two hours. I called Dad. He wanted to come, but I told him to stay home. He's not good with... this." She gestured vaguely at the room. "He doesn't know what to say anymore."

Shane lifted her head. "He thinks I'm already gone."

"He thinks you're lost. There's a difference."

Shane wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I don't know how to come back."

Sarah slid off the bed and sat on the floor beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "You don't have to know how. You just have to want to."

"I do want to." The words came out rough, desperate. "I wrote it. I was going to send it. But I couldn't press send."

"Show me."

Shane fumbled for her phone. The screen lit up, and there it was: "I need help." Unsent. She held it out to Sarah.

Sarah read it, then set the phone down gently. "That's the hardest part. Admitting it. Even just to yourself." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small smooth stone, rubbing her thumb across its surface. "I carry this everywhere. It's from the beach we used to go to as kids. Remember? You used to collect the shiniest ones and line them up on the windowsill."

Shane nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering. "I still do that." She gestured toward the kitchen counter, where a row of tiny polished pebbles sat near the sink.

"I know," Sarah said. "I noticed them when I came in. That's how I knew you were still in there somewhere."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Sarah said, "I found a place. A rehab center. It's called Serenity House. Dr. Reed recommended it."

Shane stiffened. "Dr. Reed?"

"She's a therapist. She helped a friend of mine. I called her last week, after I saw you at the coffee shop. She said she'd be willing to meet with you, no pressure."

Shane stared at the scattered crystals on the carpet. A single tear slid down her cheek and dripped onto her hand. "I don't have insurance. I don't have money."

"We'll figure it out. Dad and I. There are programs. Grants. We'll make it work."

"Why?" Shane's voice broke. "Why do you keep trying? I've lied to you so many times. I stole from Mom's jewelry box. I sold my own phone for a hit. Why don't you just give up?"

Sarah turned to face her fully, her eyes fierce and wet. "Because you're my sister. And I remember the girl who used to hold my hand during thunderstorms. The one who painted my nails for my first date. The one who laughed until she couldn't breathe. That girl is still in there, Shane. I'm not leaving her."

Shane sobbed openly now, ugly and raw. Sarah wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. They stayed like that, rocking slightly, until Shane's breathing slowed.

"Okay," Shane whispered into Sarah's shoulder. "Okay. I'll try. I'll call Dr. Reed."

Sarah pulled back, wiping her own eyes. "Tomorrow morning. First thing. I'll stay here tonight."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm not leaving." Sarah's voice was firm, but gentle. She stood up and grabbed a blanket from the closet, tossing it over the mess on the floor. "We'll clean this up in the morning. Tonight, you rest."

Shane watched her sister spread the blanket on the floor, making a makeshift bed. The sight of it, so ordinary and so kind, undid her again. She crawled onto the mattress, pulling the covers up to her chin. Sarah dimmed the light and lay down on the floor, the smooth stone still clutched in her hand.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

Sarah reached up and squeezed her hand. "Me too. But we're doing it anyway."

Shane closed her eyes. For the first time in months, the silence didn't feel like a threat. It felt like a beginning.

She drifted off to the sound of her sister's steady breathing, the foil bundle and the pipe already forgotten in the darkness. Tomorrow, she would make the call. Tomorrow, she would start the long walk back. But tonight, she was not alone.

And that was enough.