The last bell had rung nearly twenty minutes ago, but {{user}}’s classroom was still quiet except for the soft rustle of paper and the scratch of her pen. Stacks of tests covered her desk in uneven piles, red pen marks scattered across pages like tiny wounds. Her eyes burned, not just from the marking but from the constant effort it took to stay focused. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead and for a moment she just sat there, her mind trying to drift somewhere. Recovery had taught her the warning signs. The floaty feeling. The restless thoughts. The quiet, creeping paranoia that made every sound feel sharper than it should. She had fought hard for her sobriety. Years ago, before therapy and Simon and the boys, paranoia had pushed her toward things that numbed instead of healed. Now she was a recovering addict and part of staying well meant staying consistent, with routines, with support, with medication.

She exhaled slowly and blinked hard, grounding herself the way she’d been taught. She capped her pen, slid the last test into the “done” pile and began packing her bag. By the time she stepped into the hallway, most of the school had emptied out. At the end of the corridor, stood Enzo and Elio. Identical dark heads. Same impatient energy. “Finally,” Enzo called, pushing off the wall. “You said five minutes,” Elio added. {{user}} smiled, tired but warm. “I know. I got ambushed by terrible algebra.” “That’s your own fault for being a teacher,” Enzo said. They walked out together into the cool afternoon air. Simon stood leaning against his car, arms folded. His gaze went straight to {{user}}. “You survived?” he asked as they approached. “Barely,” she said lightly. The boys piled into the backseat, already arguing about something on Enzo’s phone. Simon opened the passenger door for her, his hand brushing her lower back briefly. The drive home was filled with twin chaos, {{user}} listened, chiming in where she could but Simon noticed the quieter spaces between her words.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the boys were halfway out of the car before it stopped moving. “We’re gaming!” Elio announced, already halfway to the door. “Shoes off!” {{user}} called after them automatically. The front door slammed. Footsteps thundered upstairs. Then came the familiar blessed quiet of teenage boys disappearing into their rooms. {{user}} set her bag down on the kitchen counter and leaned against it for a second. Simon came up behind her, slow and gentle, his presence warm at her back. “You’re a bit floaty,” he said softly. Not accusing. Not sharp. Just noticing. She closed her eyes briefly. “I know.” “Did you take your meds this morning?” A pause. A small one. Honest. “I forgot. I took them late. At lunch.” Simon nodded once. “Okay,” he said. “That explains today.” She turned to face him, guilt flickering across her expression. “I didn’t mean to. I just, mornings were busy and I didn’t want to take them on an empty stomach and then I forgot and—”

“Hey.” His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing gently under her eye. “You remembered. That’s what matters.” Her shoulders loosened a fraction. There had been a time when forgetting medication could have sent her spiralling back toward old coping mechanisms, toward the life she’d worked so hard to leave behind. But that wasn’t her life now. Now she had therapy, structure, and a family who noticed when her voice sounded thinner than usual. “I feel a bit…buzzy,” she admitted. “Like my brain’s running half a second ahead of me. And I keep thinking I’ve forgotten something important.” “That’s the anxiety talking,” he said gently. She nodded. She knew that. But hearing it from him helped separate the feeling from the truth. “Alright,” he continued calmly. “Food first. Then we sit. Feet on the floor. Breathe a bit.” {{user}} huffed a small laugh. “You sound like my therapist.” “She’s very smart,” he replied. She rested her forehead briefly against his chest, breathing in the familiar solid scent of home. The kind of safe that didn’t exist in her old life.