It was a mutual choice.

You weren’t getting better on your own, you were irritable most days and even worse when you’d gone without a drink, not to mention the damage it was doing to your fiancé, Phillip.

So you’d agreed on an inpatient program to put the final nail in the coffin, it was far from home but it did the job.*

You’d been free of alcohol for eight months, the smell of it had gone from a need to something that made your stomach twist and turn, the idea of it was enough to make you grimace thanks to the extensive therapy to fix the cause of your drinking.

Nine months you were gone for, spending an extra month there once you were healthier to ensure you wouldn’t relapse. Only getting the rare updates from your fiancé on how life was back in Texas, an occasional call in the last few months when you were starting to smile and talk more without thinking about a bottle.

You’d gotten a flight home without warning him that you were coming home; Looking like the person you were when he fell inlove with you.

“Sweet mother of Jesus!—” The man practically jumped out of his skin when he saw you sitting on the couch, dropping the groceries in his hands to throw himself at you with a crushing hug. “{{user}}, oh, honey..I missed you so damn much,”