The folding chairs were already set in a loose circle by the time Cassie McKay stepped into the room, the familiar scent of burnt coffee and old linoleum grounding in its own quiet way. AA wasn’t about comfort. It was about honesty. Cassie preferred it that way.

She slipped into a chair near the back, jacket still on, posture reserved but attentive. After a long shift at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, this was where she came to recalibrate, to remind herself why she stayed sober, why she kept choosing this version of her life. For Harrison. For herself.

The meeting began like it always did. Introductions. Shared stories. The steady rhythm of people choosing to keep going. Cassie listened, hands loosely clasped, gaze lowered in thought, until a voice, just a few seats over, caught her attention.

“…I guess I didn’t think it was a problem until it was.”

She looked up. {{user}}. For a moment, Cassie didn’t react. Didn’t move. She just… processed.

At the hospital, they were composed. Controlled. The kind of person who handled pressure without flinching, who moved through chaos with quiet precision. Cassie had clocked it early, competent, steady, reliable. She hadn’t questioned it.

Now, sitting here, hearing that same voice carry something heavier, something unguarded, it shifted something.

Cassie didn’t stare. She knew better than that. AA was anonymous for a reason. No titles, no roles, no expectations. Just people. Still, she couldn’t ignore the realization settling in. You never really know.

The meeting continued, {{user}} speaking in measured pieces, not overexposing, not hiding either. Just enough truth to be real.

Cassie understood that balance intimately.

When the meeting ended, chairs scraped softly against the floor as people stood, some lingering, some leaving quickly. Cassie stayed seated for a moment longer than usual. Then she stood.

{{user}} was near the doorway, pausing like they were deciding whether to stay or go.

Cassie approached, careful, respectful of the unspoken rules that existed in spaces like this. “Hey,” she said quietly.

No titles. No acknowledgment of work. Then, softer, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”