“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Sean asked. “You don’t have to go in today if you don’t want to.”

She smiled over at him as the engine idled and purred below. She’d only been home a few days, but the cabin fever had enveloped her fast. Harper had been surprised when the first place she wanted to go was rehab, but it kind of did make sense. What she needed now was healthy support more than anything else. “I’m sure,” she said.

“Okay,” Sean said. “But if you want to leave early today, just give me a call. This is a lot, a full day after what you just went through.”

“It’ll be good for me,” she said. “Promise.”

He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. Harper’s mouth opened, receptive. There were no hesitations, which she’d worried about in the hospital. Instead, since the day he’d brought her home, it was as if they were closer than ever.

“Good luck, sweetheart,” Sean called after her. She gave him an exaggerated eye roll over her shoulder and blew back a kiss.

“Harper!” the receptionist said. “So good to see you! We weren’t sure you’d make it back in this week.”

“Hi,” Harper said. “I did. I’m here. It feels good to be back.”

“It’s good to have you back. The group’s just settling in,” she said.

As Harper made her way down the hall, one of her favorite doctors—a resident psychologist—turned the corner. “Harper, you’re here,” she said warmly. The young doctor always looked like she was playing dress-up in her lab coat. She had the smooth-skinned young face of a high schooler who had somehow escaped the curse of acne. “How are you feeling today?”

“Surprisingly good,” Harper said.

“The staff has been updated on the past week’s occurrences. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” This was one of the things Harper had been afraid of. How would she react to sympathies and condolences? She didn’t know if she’d be able to handle it, but hearing someone offer their wishes in earnest made the baby feel more like he’d been part of this world.

Harper ducked into the group room as the doctor gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “—go over the foundational—Harper! You made it to group, that’s fantastic.”

She blushed slightly as she made her way into the circle. Billy reached behind him, his willowy figure bending at fantastic angles, and pulled up a chair beside him. He patted it as the rest of the group members smiled at her. “Sit here,” he said.

As she looked around the room, she realized nobody but the medical staff knew why she’d been gone. It wasn’t odd to have someone disappear for a few days, or even for good. There was no telling what might happen. Harper had heard stories of some people leaving forever, only for an obituary to be stumbled across the following week. It was usually a sudden heart attack or a hip fracture. Starvation usually made your body consume its heart first after all the fat had been gobbled up. The bones were nearly hollow as a bird’s and delicate as a soufflé.

Only the group leader offered Harper a smile of camaraderie that let her know she knew about the baby. “Harper, since it’s your first day back, you get the choice of when you’d like to share today. If at all, of course.”

Harper looked around the room at the motley crew of misfits. She drew in her breath. “I’m … okay, I guess. Not great, not terrible.”

“Why were you gone?” Billy asked. He leaned toward her, his eyes hungry for drama.

“Billy, you know we don’t ask that,” the group leader said.

“Too late,” he said with an unapologetic shrug.

Harper laughed. His countenance reminded her of P. “It’s okay,” she said. “If I’m not going to share here, then where? I was in the hospital,” she said.

Everyone nodded. They’d assumed that.

“I … I miscarried. Everyone there said it’s really common for women with eating disorders. Well, I mean, we all know that.”

“I’ve had four,” one of the girls said. Her oily hair hung in tired strands down her face.

“No competition,” the group leader said. “This is about Harper right now.”

“It was my first,” Harper said. “The good thing, I think, is that the doctors and nurses weren’t really adamant that it was because of my weight. They basically said it could happen for a million reasons.”

“And how do you feel about the pregnancy ending?” the group leader asked.

“Sad,” Harper said simply. She gave a short laugh. “That sounds juvenile, I know, but it’s true. I … I really love the man who was the father. But, we talked about it. He’s in recovery, too.” The group leader raised her brow. “Alcohol, not an eating disorder. We both know it wasn’t the right time or circumstances for a baby, so in a way I’m kind of glad I don’t have to be pushed into being a mom right now. I know that sounds terrible. And selfish.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being selfish sometimes,” the group leader said. “Our society reveres self-deprecation, false modesty, sarcasm—but there’s nothing good in them most of the time. For a lot of us, that rewires our inner voice, or self-talk. We face enough negativity in the world. If our inner voice doesn’t talk kindly to us, we start to believe it.”

“Yeah,” Harper said. “I know. But doesn’t that make me a bad person? For being partly grateful to not have a baby right now? Even though it’s a small part?”

“Nothing’s black and white,” Billy said.

“That’s right,” the group leader said. “Or at least, very few things are.”

“I don’t know,” Harper said. She began to tear up. “I read some things? About the importance of thought and will during a pregnancy? What if … what if the baby somehow knew he wasn’t totally wanted?”

“Harper, I can promise you that a lot of women aren’t one hundred percent sure about being a mother. Even the people who plan, who get IVF, who spent years and life savings on getting pregnant will have their doubts. If having doubts caused miscarriages, our species would be in serious trouble.”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I guess you’re right. I—this sounds stupid, I know—but I know Sean and I are meant to be together. And to have a family …”

“That doesn’t sound stupid,” the session leader said. “It sounds brave. And like you’re looking toward a happy, healthier future.”

“But it seems selfish, you know? To be so certain of him and our future together, but at the same time feel like it’s not time to start a family. Let’s be honest, we’re both kind of a hot mess right now.”

“You’ve talked about Sean before. You’ve known him, what, a couple of months?” the group leader asked.

“Yeah,” she said softly. She knew how unbelievable it sounded, to be so sure of a soulmate you’d barely known for a few weeks.

“You’ve certainly gone through a lot in a short amount of time. That can either drive a new couple apart or bond them closer together. It sounds like you’re heading down the latter path.”

Harper gave her an appreciative smile. “How did Sean take it?” Billy asked.

“Perfectly,” she said. “I was kind of out of it, with the drugs at the hospital and all. I mean, he was sad, too, but also relieved.”

“My last miscarriage was just last year,” the mousy girl said. “I know! I know, it’s not about me,” she said before the group leader could reel her in. “I just wanted to tell you, if you ever want to talk? Like, one-on-one? I’m here. Sorry if I sounded like I was trying to lessen what you went through.”

“Thanks,” Harper said. “I might take you up on that sometime.”

“Well, Harper, it’s great to have you back,” the group leader said. “Why don’t we take a short break from sharing and let’s open our food journals.”

Harper watched everyone else as they dug out their tattered Moleskines and composition books. Some of them had decorated their journals with sketches and stickers from favorite coffee shops, or outlines of their home state. Others had chosen nondescript journals that wouldn’t encourage anyone to pry.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t really keep a journal in the hospital. But I can guarantee you that I ate all my jello.”

“Ugh,” Billy said. “If there’s anything that’s going to inspire a relapse into anorexia, it’s hospital food. They should market that as the ultimate diet.”

As she surveyed the room with everyone busily bookmarking pages and comparing cheat meals, a warmth settled inside her. This room, these people, it felt good. Everyone was right—therapy wasn’t easy. It was hard, sometimes almost impossible. Relearning how to think about her body, herself, and food was going to take a lifetime of management. But so far, it was worth it.

“How many calories do you think is in a fried egg made with just, like, a tiny bit of Pam spray?” somebody asked. “Like, the calories on the Pam can say zero, but it’s for a tiny amount. How can it be olive oil and no calories? And how can an egg gain calories just by being cooked? That’s so weird, and totally not fair. Raw eggs are gross. I never got that—”

“You know food journal shares aren’t for talking about calories or assigning a number to the food,” the group leader said. “We need to learn to look at, talk about, and think about food differently.”

“I know that,” the girl said huffily. “I was just wondering. It’s, like, a science question.”

“Honey, do we look like scientists?” Billy asked.