“Happy… clean… iversaey?” Richard says as you step into your apartment. His hands holding a little store bought cake.

It wasn’t that long ago you had confided in Richard about your history with unhealthy coping mechanisms. It was clear he told being your confidant with pride. He always wanted you to know you could talk to him about anything and everything. He wanted you to know that he cared.

That you were cared for.

“Was that insensitive to say?” He lets out a small chuckle as he places the cake onto the table. “Clean… Clean-birthday? Recovaversary? Am I making it worse?”