It was a quiet evening when things finally came to a head. Lucy sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV while Emma slept soundly in her crib. The half-empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, her fourth glass of the night held loosely in her hand.
She hadn't planned to drink so much tonight. But the pressure was mounting again—work was slipping out of her grasp, she felt disconnected from Tim, and the constant worry that she wasn't being a good enough mother gnawed at her every waking moment.
Tim walked in from the kitchen, his eyes immediately landing on the wine bottle. His face tightened, and Lucy could see the worry, the frustration, that he had been holding back.
"Lucy," he said, his voice low but firm. "We need to talk."
Lucy tensed, setting the glass down and crossing her arms. "About what?"
Tim sat down beside her, his gaze never leaving hers. "About this. About the drinking. It's getting worse."
Lucy's heart pounded in her chest. She hadn't expected him to confront her so directly. She had been so careful, or at least she thought she had been.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice defensive. "It's just a glass or two to relax. Everyone does it."
Tim shook his head, his expression serious. "It's not just a glass or two, Lucy. It's more than that, and you know it. I've seen the bottles. I've seen how you are after. This isn't you."
Her chest tightened, panic rising. "You don't know what I'm going through, Tim. You have no idea how hard this is for me."
"I do know," Tim said, his voice calm but insistent. "I'm right here with you, every day. I see you struggling, and I see you trying to handle it on your own. But this—drinking to cope—it's not the answer."
Lucy looked away, tears stinging her eyes. She hated feeling this vulnerable, hated that he could see right through her. "I'm fine," she whispered again, but even she didn't believe it anymore.
Tim reached out, gently turning her face back to his. "No, you're not. And it's okay to not be fine. But you need help, Lucy. We need help."
Lucy's defenses crumbled, the weight of it all crashing down on her. "I don't know how to stop," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I don't know how to fix this."
Tim pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she finally let the tears fall. "We'll figure it out," he said softly. "But you're not alone in this. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time in months, Lucy allowed herself to be vulnerable, to admit that she was struggling. She didn't have to be perfect. She didn't have to handle everything on her own. Tim was right there, willing to carry the weight with her.
It wasn't going to be easy. The road to getting better never was. But with Tim by her side, Lucy knew she had a chance to find herself again, to regain control—not just over her career, or her role as a mother, but over her life.
