The real agony of this new life of hers is not signing Tyler into rehab or hearing an ambulance wail as it carts him away. It’s not watching him lie and disappear and keep her up late into the night, worried sick, though those things, of course, are heartbreaking. The real agony, she now understands, is this. It’s good things—the book of poems, the sandwich, both kind and thoughtful—speckled with carnage. It’s seeing someone you love splinter away from you, shard by shard. Knowing there are parts of him left, but never being sure just how much, and at what point a person is so far gone that
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