He had hope. Unlike so many other children. Unlike Aurora Johnson.

The thought bruised her, hurt her all over again even after all these months. And she could feel the darkness rear up in the back of her mind, feel the telltale heaviness settle in her shoulders. And her thoughts, of course, fed on the darkness from there.

All the children out there who never had a chance. The child predators on the prowl right now. What eight-year-old was being tucked into bed right now who would never live to see the morning? What young girl was about to be snatched from her own home while her parents slept unaware down the hall?

And Rainie was left hurting, aching, reeling from the sheer hopelessness of it all.

Think happy thoughts, she told herself, almost inanely. Yellow-flowered fields, smooth-flowing streams. Of course, none of it worked.

So she thought of Dougie again. She reminded herself of the satisfied look on his face as he raced his car around the room. And she thought of all the other children out there who were bruised and battered, but somehow-somehow-found a way to survive.

She wanted so much for those children. Fiercely. Passionately. For them to grow up. For them to be free. For them to break the cycle of abuse, to find the unconditional love every person was entitled to. For them to be happy.

And she wondered how she could want so much for them, yet so little for herself. She was one of those children, too. She was a survivor.

And then, for the first time in a long time, she knew what she had to do.

She drove up the gravel driveway. She strode through the stinging rain into her house. She found Quincy sitting in front of the fire, a tight look around his mouth.

“Dougie says hi,” she volunteered loudly. “He earned himself a new toy car.”

And that quickly Quincy’s shoulders came down, the tension eased in his face. She knew what he’d been thinking, what he’d been worrying, and it brought tears to her eyes.

She stood there for the longest time. Minutes. Hours. She didn’t know. She looked at her husband and she knew she was seeing him again for the very first time. The gray that was now more visible than the jet in his hair. The fresh lines creasing the corners of his mouth. The way he sat so stiffly in his own home before his own wife, as if he were steeling himself for what she’d do next.

She strode forward before the momentum left her. She dropped to her knees in front of him. She reached out her hand. She said the words that needed to be said: “My name is Rainie Conner, and I am an alcoholic.”

The look on his face was so grave, it nearly broke her heart all over again. He took her hand. “My name is Pierce Quincy, and I’m the man who still loves you. Get off your knees, Rainie. You never have to bow before me.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Shhh.”

“I want our life back.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Tell me you still love me.”

“Oh, Quincy, I love you.”

“Tell me you won’t drink again.”

“I’ll join a program. I’ll do what needs to be done. I won’t ever drink again.”

He drew her up onto his lap, buried his face against the soft wisps of her newly grown hair. “Congratulations, Rainie. You’ve just taken the first step.”

“It’s a very long road,” she whispered softly.

“I know, sweetheart. That’s why I’m going to hold your hand all the way.”