Page 40 of The Moment Promised

“You have no control over what your mom does.” He turns his entire body to me, his knees touching mine.

“If I had been there?—”

“You were,” he says with so much conviction. “You’ve been there every single day. You stayed with her instead of going to college. You think about her in every decision you make. You werehere.”

“I know but?—”

“You can’t sit on top of her every single second, Adeline. That’s not a life.”

“Adeline Miller?” an older nurse calls into the waiting room.

I stand with a marching band drumming inside my chest. “That’s me.” I squeeze my hands at my sides to keep them from shaking.

“Your mom is awake and asking to see you.” She smiles, waving me to follow her.

I gaze up to the ceiling, intense relief washing over me. I glance at Finn, making sure he’s okay.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you, love.” He smiles reassuringly.

The nurse speaks as we walk down the hall, toward my mother. “We were able to flush most of the alcohol and drugs out of her system, but I can’t promise we will be able to do the same next time.” She speaks so fast, it’s hard to keep up. “Her liver is in horrible condition, and if she doesn’t make lifestyle changes, we don’t see her making it to the next five years.” She opens the door, allowing me to walk through. She spits heavy information out, giving no time to process before the next. “Since your mom is an alcohol user, she wouldn’t qualify for the transplant list, so her only chance at living is getting sober.”

The room is filled with beeping machines, my mother lays in a hospital bed, wearing a paper gown with purple under her eyes.

“Your mother has all the information she needs, and if she agrees, we can get her into a substance abuse rehabilitation center within the week. She has great insurance; it shouldn’t be a problem getting coverage.”

She leaves with a tight-lipped nod, leaving me alone with her.

“Hi.” I smile, sitting in the chair next to her bed.

“Hi, puffin.” Her voice comes out raspy.

We just sit there in silence. I take in the miracle it is she’s awake and in my presence. Judging by her expression, I have a feeling she feels the same.

“Mom,” I say.

Her eyes squeeze shut, like she’s already heard what I want to say.

“I need you to live.” I laugh through a turmoil of emotion, while tears pool in my eyes for the thousandth time today.

“Adeline—”

“Who else is going to walk me down the aisle at my wedding?” I sniffle. “I want you to meet my children… I still need my mom.”

“I know.” She sobs, crying and breaking with me.

I stand to hug her, feeling like she’ll slip away sooner than I can handle.

She hugs me back. Crying into my hair, she whispers, “I’ll be better. I’m going to rehab.”

She drops this proclamation onto me, and it’s so heavy I don’t think I can carry the weight of it. “Oh my god.” I reel back, searching her face to make sure she means it. I see more strength than expected in her green eyes.

12

I’m free.

For the first time in nineteen years, I can say from the pit of my soulI am free.

The withdrawal started immediately, and by some miracle we were able to get my mom into the best rehab in all of Florida. Finn and I drove her the few hours away. I said goodbye and told her I was proud of her.

---