She promised to pass along the message, but by five thirty Richard still hadn’t called. To distract myself I went to Walgreens and bought cards for everyone who was still at the Ledge. I spent all evening writing out personalized messages to each person, following upon specific issues they’d raised in group. I wanted them to know I’d been listening, that I actually cared. I mailed off the cards the next morning. Over the next week I received just one response, from Nina, who told me her twenty-eight days were almost up. She asked if I’d made it to the Midwest yet, and if I could send my new address. I packed her letter in one of my boxes and never wrote her back. I eventually received a few more letters, a yellow forwarding label with my new address affixed to the bottom of the envelopes. But by the time they arrived I no longer needed them.

•

I waited until I got to the Midwest, exactly two weeks after leaving the Ledge, before adding Charlotte as a Facebook friend. The night before, I’d paid my new neighbor twenty bucks for her Wi-Fi password. So far, the internet was all that existed in my apartment besides my laptop, two suitcases, and a sleeping bag.

Charlotte accepted the request five minutes later, and with her acceptance came a wall post: “Peace and love to you!” I clicked on her page and could see that she’d written the same thing to about twelve other former clients, including Molly.

The corners of my eyes burned in shame and disappointment. What had I expected? And more important, why was I still hopeful?

I sat on the floor of my apartment feeling more alone than ever. I was completely single for the first time in years, with no relationship or obsession to cling to. I missed my mother more than ever. At the Ledge, detaching from her had kept her ironically close, especially when I summoned her into the group room. Now that I was out, on my own, I found myself experiencing excruciating withdrawal, which I guess spoke to our codependency. At least once a day I stared at her name on my phone and debated calling. I wanted to talk to her desperately that night, but still I resisted, perhaps out of some instinct whispering in my ear, telling me it wasn’t yet safe. Around midnight, I unrolled my sleeping bag and lay down on top of it. I felt a surge of despair well up inside me as I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come. In truth I was exhausted. I didn’t know if I had the energy to start over again. To break in new streets, to familiarize myself with the supermarket aisles, to make friends. Maybe I wouldn’t this time. Maybe I would remain a stranger.