Recovery isn't a straight line—it's two steps forward, one step back, and learning to forgive yourself for stumbling.
Friday night, Ethan went to his first social gathering since arriving in California.
Maya lived in a small apartment about fifteen minutes away, shared with two other Berkeley students who were also interning in the area. The living room was crowded with about twelve people—mostly from their intern cohort, a few friends from other companies.
Ethan felt awkward walking in with the six-pack of cheap beer he'd bought—the only thing he could afford to contribute.
"Ethan! You made it!" Maya greeted him at the door. "Come in, come in. You know David and Alex. That's Jordan over there, and these are some of my roommates..."
The introductions blurred together. Ethan found a corner and nursed his beer, watching everyone else laugh and talk and be effortlessly social.
"First time?" David appeared beside him.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Little bit. You look like you're at a funeral, not a party." David handed him a slice of pizza. "Eat. Relax. Nobody's judging you."
"Easy for you to say."
"True. But also true that you're overthinking this. It's just pizza and bad movies. You don't have to perform."
The movie was terrible—some action film with ridiculous explosions and a nonsensical plot. But everyone made fun of it together, yelling at the screen, laughing at the bad dialogue.
And slowly, Ethan found himself relaxing.
Laughing at Marcus's running commentary.
Debating plot holes with Maya.
Just... being present.
Around 10 PM, as things were winding down, Maya cornered him in the kitchen.
"I'm glad you came."
"Thanks for inviting me. Again."
"I was starting to think you hated us." She smiled. "But you're actually pretty cool when you let people see you."
"I'm not trying to hide—"
"Yes, you are. But that's okay. Everyone has their reasons." Maya leaned against the counter. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why are you really here? Like, what made you take this internship?"
Ethan considered lying, giving some polished answer about career development.
But something about Maya's genuine curiosity made him want to be honest.
"I needed to prove I could do it. That I belonged in spaces like this, even though I come from—" He stopped. "I don't come from much. And this internship felt like a way to change that trajectory. For me and my family."
"That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself."
"Yeah. I'm realizing that."
"Well, for what it's worth? You definitely belong here. Your code is some of the cleanest I've seen. And you're way smarter than you give yourself credit for."
"Thanks."
"I mean it. Stop doubting yourself so much. You earned this."
On the shuttle home—he'd taken it there and back, spending the money without guilt—Ethan felt something he hadn't felt in weeks: lightness.
One social evening. A few hours of being normal.
It hadn't killed him. In fact, it had helped.
Saturday morning, Ethan video called Vanessa at a reasonable hour for once—9 AM his time, noon hers.
She looked better than she had during their fight earlier in the week. Less exhausted. More like herself.
"You look different," she said immediately.
"Good different or bad different?"
"Good different. Less... haunted."
Ethan laughed. "I've been taking better care of myself. Eating more. Sleeping more. I even went to a social thing last night."
"Really? Tell me everything."
He described the evening—the terrible movie, the pizza, Maya's apartment, feeling awkward but gradually relaxing.
"I'm so proud of you," Vanessa said when he finished. "That couldn't have been easy."
"It wasn't. But it was good." He paused. "How are things there?"
"Better. Your mom's appointment this week was great—all her numbers look good. Lily's less stressed now that she finished her college essay. The community center kids are doing well."
"And you?"
"I'm okay. Tired but managing." She smiled. "I think our fight helped, actually. Cleared the air. Made me realize I was holding onto resentment I didn't even know I had."
"Resentment about what?"
"About carrying everything while you were gone. About feeling like I couldn't complain because you were working so hard. About—" She stopped. "About feeling second to the internship sometimes."
Ethan felt his chest tighten. "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way."
"I know. And I know I said I'd support you and I meant it. But I guess I didn't realize how hard it would actually be. Not just missing you, but being the one holding down the fort."
"You've been amazing. More than amazing. I don't know how to thank you—"
"You don't have to thank me. I love your family. They're my family too now." She smiled. "But maybe when you get back, you can take me on an actual date. One where we're not stressed about cancer or money or school. Just us."
"Deal. Best date ever. I promise."
"I'm holding you to that."
They talked for another hour—easier conversation than they'd had in weeks. About nothing important. About everything.
And when they hung up, Ethan felt connected to her again in a way he hadn't since leaving.
Distance was hard.
But maybe—if they both kept trying, kept being honest, kept showing up for each other—they could survive it.
Sunday afternoon, Ethan did something he'd been avoiding for weeks.
He called his mother.
"Sweetheart! How are you?"
"Good, actually. Better than I've been."
"I can hear it in your voice. You sound less stressed."
"I'm trying to do what you said. Taking better care of myself. Using the emergency money when I need it. Not trying to save everyone else."
"I'm so glad." Sarah's voice was thick with emotion. "I've been so worried about you."
"I know. I'm sorry. I should've listened to you from the start."
"Well, you're listening now. That's what matters." She paused. "Ethan, I need to tell you something."
His stomach dropped. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong! Everything's fine. I just—I got a call from the medical billing department. All my outstanding bills have been paid in full."
"What? How?"
"I don't know. They said an anonymous donor covered everything. All the surgery costs, the chemotherapy, everything. Over $15,000."
Ethan's mind raced. "Who would do that?"
"I don't know. They wouldn't tell me. Patient privacy or something." Sarah's voice wavered. "Ethan, I think it might have been Vanessa. Or her father."
"They wouldn't—would they?"
"I asked Vanessa about it. She swore it wasn't her. But she looked—I don't know. Like she knew something but couldn't tell me."
"Mom, if they paid your medical bills—"
"I know. I know what that means. It means I can breathe again. It means I don't have to choose between medications and groceries. It means—" She started crying. "It means we're going to be okay."
Ethan felt his own tears starting. "Did you thank them?"
"I tried. But if it was them, they won't admit it. So I'm telling you—if you talk to Vanessa, if you can figure out if it was her family, please tell them thank you. Tell them they changed our lives."
"I will. I promise."
After he hung up, Ethan immediately called Vanessa.
"Did your father pay my mom's medical bills?"
"Hello to you too."
"Vanessa. Did he?"
A pause. "I can neither confirm nor deny."
"That's a yes."
"Maybe it was an anonymous donor who just happened to have detailed knowledge of your mother's specific billing situation." Her tone was light, teasing. "Stranger things have happened."
"Vanessa—"
"Ethan, if someone did pay those bills—hypothetically—it would be because they wanted to. Because they care about your family. Because they have the resources to help and it would mean nothing to them financially but everything to you. And if that hypothetical person exists, they probably wouldn't want to be thanked because it would make things weird."
Ethan closed his eyes. "I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything. Just—accept that sometimes people want to help. And that accepting help doesn't make you weak or indebted. It just makes you human."
"Your father didn't have to do that."
"Maybe he wanted to. Maybe he sees how hard you work, how much you love your family, how much you sacrifice. And maybe he wanted to take one burden off your shoulders."
"Tell him thank you. Please."
"I will. But Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"This doesn't change anything between us. You're not with me because of my family's money. We both know that. This was just—one human helping another. That's all."
"Okay."
"Okay."
After they hung up, Ethan sat in his room and cried.
Not from sadness. From relief.
His mother's medical bills—the weight he'd been carrying for months—were gone.
She could breathe. They could breathe.
And yes, it came from Vanessa's family. Yes, it complicated things in ways he didn't fully understand yet.
But right now, all he felt was gratitude.
Monday morning, Ethan went to work feeling lighter than he had since arriving.
The medical bills were paid. His mother was healthy. Vanessa loved him. He was doing good work.
Things were far from perfect. He was still tired, still adjusting, still learning how to balance everything.
But he was trying.
And maybe that was enough.
At lunch, he joined the team in the cafeteria instead of eating alone at his desk.
"Look who's socializing," Marcus said.
"Don't make a big deal about it."
"Too late. This is huge. Ethan Cross, joining the humans for lunch. Someone document this."
"You're an ass."
"True. But you love me anyway."
And despite himself, Ethan laughed.
That afternoon, Dr. Chen stopped by their team area.
"How's the project going?"
"Great," Maya said. "We're actually ahead of schedule. Ethan fixed the memory leak bug, and now we're moving into advanced testing."
"Excellent. I've been hearing good things about Team Seven. Keep it up." Dr. Chen looked at Ethan. "And Ethan? Lisa Park mentioned you to me. Said your work is exceptional. That's high praise from her."
"Thank you."
"Keep it up. We're always looking for talent like yours for full-time positions."
After Dr. Chen left, David elbowed Ethan.
"Dude. Lisa Park doesn't give compliments lightly. You're making a name for yourself."
"I'm just doing the work."
"Yeah, but you're doing it really well. Own it."
Ethan tried to.
For the first time since arriving, he let himself feel proud.
He belonged here. Not because of charity or diversity quotas or luck.
But because he was good at what he did.
And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to believe it.
That night's call with Vanessa was easy.
They talked about their days, made each other laugh, planned for when he'd come home in eight weeks.
"Eight more weeks," Vanessa said. "That's nothing."
"It feels like forever."
"I know. But we're halfway there. And you're doing great. I'm so proud of you."
"I couldn't do this without you."
"Yes, you could. But I'm glad you don't have to."
After they hung up, Ethan opened his laptop and looked at his calendar.
Eight weeks until he went home.
Eight weeks until he saw Vanessa in person.
Eight weeks until senior year started.
He could do eight weeks.
He'd already survived four.
And now that he'd learned to accept help, to take care of himself, to be human instead of just surviving—the remaining eight felt possible.
Not easy. But possible.
And right now, possible was enough.