The next morning, Yael stood in front of the full-length mirror, quietly assessing her outfit and toying with the charm on her necklace. Miriam would certainly approve; one couldn't really go wrong with black slacks and a white blouse. Utilitarian, just like the room she'd slept in.

All she saw were terrified eyes and a messy mane of brown hair. She should have taken the time to straighten.

Her wardrobe in L.A. was more casual—jeans, flip flops, gauzy skirts. Already she felt too constricted, shaped from clay into a role she didn't fit. Her gaze shifted towards a bright yellow sundress laying atop her suitcase. What would the people at her family's company think if she showed up wearing that instead, the phoenix tattoo gracing her left shoulder blade in full view? Better to save the extra shock for another visit. Her unexpected presence would be surprising enough.

Yael planned to drop the unread documents off, say hello, then inform Miriam she didn't have the strength to be in charge of a multi-billion dollar empire. There was no place for her at Malkah Enterprises, not anymore. Yael sighed and left the apartment before changing her mind about her clothes again.

When the cab pulled up in front of the tall, imposing building that housed Malkah Enterprises, Yael froze with a hand on the door and her heart beating in her ears. Unable to think or move, she stared at the glass and chrome skyscraper, half-expecting it to fall to the ground in front of her... another scar from that fateful morning, and a totally unreasonable one. What grown woman was afraid of skyscrapers? Fear clamped down on her, making it impossible to breathe, and black dots peppered her vision.

"You are not allowed to have a meltdown, you idiot," she muttered.

"Excuse me?" the driver asked.

She shook her head, annoyed to be caught muttering by a cab driver, and forced herself out of the car. It'd been long enough, and she was tired of being afraid.

Yael gathered herself together and walked into the lobby. After checking in with security, she took the elevator to the executive offices on the eighteenth floor. She stepped into a space once as familiar as her own home.

Beautiful, dark Brazilian wood dominated the reception area, and plush chairs invited clients and associates to wait in comfort. Tasteful black and white photos dotted the beige walls, pictures of the company's finished buildings, and one of Isaac Malkah, Malkah's founder, and her great-grandfather. During her internship, she had entered through this office every day, striding across the room with purpose. Now, even though it hadn't changed, she was an intruder.

Perched behind a massive desk, the receptionist smiled warmly and motioned her over.

"How can I help you today?"

Unsure of who she was supposed to see, Yael blurted the name of her father's best friend. "Peter Peregrine, please."

"And who may I say is here?"

Her relief turned to uncertainty. "Yael Malkah."

The young woman's blue eyes widened as she picked up the phone. Reputation was everything in the business world, and her last name said it all. Instantly, she wished she hadn't used it. By the time she reached Peter's office, everyone in the building would know she was here.

"He'll be out in a minute."

"Thank you." Ignoring the receptionist's curious stare, Yael moved to the side of the desk to wait, absently scratching her elbow.

She wondered what her grandmother had shared with the company, either intentionally or not. Gossip flowed through the office as freely as the imported coffee it always had. She remembered her summer internships when she eagerly devoured the goings-on of the empire her family built, especially the tawdry tales told at the water cooler. Now, she knew it would be her name whispered behind closed doors, her story eyebrows were being raised over.

The longer the minutes stretched, the more her stomach rebelled, anxiety twisting her insides into a painful knot. Doubt crippled her, tempting her to turn and leave. Her NA sponsor warned she would be confronting too much by being home, but instances such as this were how Yael tested herself, good or bad. So she did her best to ignore the nerves and fidgeted, refusing to give in.

"Yael!" A familiar voice snapped her back to the moment. "I'll be damned. I wasn't ready to believe it until I saw you for myself."

Before she had a chance to answer, she found herself engulfed in a tight embrace. As he pulled away, his dark eyes twinkled at her happily, and his thick, black hair was slicked back from his handsome face, silver at the temples.

"You look as lovely as ever."

"I can't believe you're still here," Yael said.

"Well, you seem to forget, I lost my apprentice a few years ago."

Refusing to let the comment guilt her, she replied, "This place was always full of young, hungry interns. I'm sure you replaced me right away."

"You're impossible to replace. Let's go to my office, we can catch up in peace." He led her down the hall. "I have to admit, the way Miriam spoke of you, and the things I've heard around the office, I expected something a little different."

Peter opened the door to the same office he'd had for years and offered her a chair. As she sat, her gaze strayed to a picture of him and her father at a charity golf tournament a couple of summers before he died. Laughter filled Ezra Malkah's lean face, his dark hair mussed from play, and he looked so tan and healthy it made her heartache.

"I didn't even know she was sick until last week."

"You're here now, that counts." He studied her with sadness. "Not a day goes by I haven't prayed you were okay. You've been through a lot. We all lost something that day."

"Thanks, Peter." She swallowed thickly, working to repress the threatening tears. "Wherever my parents are, I hope they understand why I acted the way I did."

"Neither of your parents would judge you. All they'd care about is that you're healthy. I knew them well enough to say they'd be happy you're alive and on the road to recovery." His lips expanded into the wide, happy smile she remembered. "And you're good now? What have you been up to in California?"

"I am good. I found my true love."

Peter's eyebrows rose.

"Baking," she continued. "I'm pretty good at it too. Who would have thought?"

"Me. You excelled at anything you put your mind to."

"Which, ironically, included heroin." He didn't find the same humor she did in her statement, so she plowed on. "Being sober is hard, but it also feels good to be me again, or close to it. It's tough taking all these trips down memory lane—the office, Grandmother's, the penthouse—but at the same time, I'm home."

"Miriam never failed to assure us you'd show up someday and, as she put it, do your duty."

"She never changes." Yael touched her wrist tattoo. "I've already been informed she expects me to take my place in the company, but I don't think that is what I want. Who's been filling in since she got sick? I figured you were next in line."

"So did I." A flash of anger raced across his face. "Her replacement is this new hotshot, Casey Castañeda. He's a bit of an ass."

"Uh, oh."

"We old-timers don't understand him. Miriam literally plucked him from cubicle-land and set him on the fast track, claiming he is who will take us into the next phase." He shook his head. "Whatever that means. Granted, he seems to have a solid grasp of what he's doing and has implemented quite a few effective changes, but he's not winning a lot of friends. His laid back approach grates on me. I'm used to a more rapid firebrand of leadership."

"You always had high expectations," she joked. "I remember your stern lectures all too well."

"Mentoring you was not a hardship, this guy is another story. Obviously, your grandmother saw something in him that I lacked. I'll adjust."

"He sounds much more qualified than me. I quit college two weeks in and I've only worked odd jobs here and there, a true trust fund party girl," she rambled, tapping her foot restlessly. "I'm not corporate material."

"You're too hard on yourself. You had a great head for the business. It's in the blood."

She started to argue that nepotism with an unqualified recovering addict wasn't going to bode well. The door to Peter's office flew open. Yael was startled by the man who entered—tall, with dark blond hair cut close to his head and striking blue eyes set in a chiseled face. It took tremendous effort to tear her gaze away, but she refused to be caught gawking.

"Peter, we need to discuss the Chicago deal before our meeting. I know you've got reservations, but I think with a little more work, we'll be on the same page. This is a huge client we don't want to lose." He got down to business, not even excusing himself for interrupting. Energy pulsed off the athletic body draped in dress pants and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Sure, Casey. First, let me introduce someone." Peter rose and walked around his desk to stand beside Yael. "This is Yael Malkah. Yael, this is Casey. He's been filling Miriam's shoes."

Yael rose and offered her hand. He stared at her in silence. After a minute, she dropped her arm, and a wave of self-consciousness passed over her. Casey's glare cut into her, sending her anxiety into overdrive.

"Peter, do you have a second?" an unfamiliar man asked from the doorway.

"Excuse me." And he left her alone with Casey.

She feared Casey would stand there all day and not say a word, but he grunted. "Miriam has weeks left to live, and you choose now to make your grand return?"

"Excuse me?" Heat flared in her gut.

He crossed his arms and smirked. "You can't waltz in at the end and expect her, or the company, to welcome you with open arms. Not really fair to anyone, is it?"

His words slapped her across the face, knocking her speechless. She struggled to defend herself, but he'd held up a mirror showing her the same crimes she scolded herself over. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassment, or having the last word, she calmly passed him the papers Miriam asked her to deliver and said, "I can see why Peter speaks so highly of you. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Cory."

Without another word, she walked out, grinning at the way he frowned when she called him the wrong name.

Yael stood rooted to the concrete on the street, desperate to regain control of her trembling body. Her parting remark might have shown strength, but it reminded her, yet again, that she didn't belong in this world anymore. Casey's accusations breached her walls, a deadly strike to her defenses. The addictions she survived had stripped away her confidence and self-esteem. Luckily, she found a way to begin rebuilding herself in the last ten months with baking.

Begging strangers for money to score her next fix—hell, sleeping with strangers to get her next fix—that is what her days had boiled down to. Casey was dead on with his assessment. She neglected her family for years and had no right being involved in a company as important and influential as Malkah Enterprises. The entire world would watch as she teetered on a very dangerous ledge. If she fell, it would be best if she did it alone.

The cravings kicked into high gear, her knees grew jittery, and an ache sprouted deep inside, doubling her over. Fingers itched for a syringe, and her mind craved the routine of cutting and heating and tying her arm, frustrating her to no end. It should be easier after nearly a year, damnit. Where was her serenity now? She fumbled around in her bag for her phone with shaking hands and found an NA meeting starting in little over an hour, not far from Central Park. She'd go for a walk, then head over to the church. Lurching to the curb, she hailed a cab and didn't manage a full breath of air until she settled in the backseat. The faint odor of sweat did nothing to ease the nausea rising in her throat.

She tapped at the keys roughly. Surely, her sponsor would be awake by now.

"I've been thinking about you," Veronica's throaty tone greeted. Her no-nonsense attitude fit her Harley-Davidson-loving lifestyle, but she often described the tranquility she found in gardening, a time for her to be alone with her thoughts, the calming monotony of movement, similar to the peace Yael had discovered in baking. "How is it?"

"Better and worse, I guess. More than I anticipated on both ends." Yael's voice wobbled, but there was no point in hiding it from Veronica. The woman never failed to miss a thing. Yael detailed what happened since arriving and said, "I'm headed to a meeting to erase the scowl I know you're probably wearing."

"Good. A meeting sounds exactly like what you need. I wish you would've called me earlier. Being back at your old apartment is a bad idea. It's too soon, love. You haven't realized your limitations yet."

"It's fine. I'm fine. I mean, yeah, I am grieving for them all over again, but now that I'm here... I don't think I ever let myself before. As hard as it is, I feel closer to them than I have in a long time. You said it yourself, closure is important."

"It is. You're stronger now, but I'm still concerned about you." Veronica sighed. "You've done so well these past few months. Don't lose sight of your goals. Make sure you do your daily reading and meditation exercises. Whether it's a year or five or twenty, the dangers are the same."

"I'll be okay, I promise. I'm learning my limits, Ronnie. I won't go too far. Trust me. I do not want to go back there."

"Do you have enough money? I swear, New York is more expensive than L.A., and I know you don't make much at the bakery."

"It's all good. Not having to pay for a hotel saves a lot of expense." Growing up, she was part of the small minority who never had to worry about money. Her future had been secure, aided by the generous trust fund from her grandparents. Of course, she blasted through hundreds of thousands of dollars of that trust to feed her habit, including drug-fueled trips to exotic locales. Even now, she couldn't track where all the money went. It disgusted her.

There'd been the trip to Thailand, a month spent in a house on the beach cozying up to Nova Kaine, a now-renowned singer. Sex and drugs, mixed ith a nightlife offering every temptation imaginable. It had hollowed her while leaving the impression she was safe. Other locations, like Amsterdam and Brazil, were less lucid, the memories hazy. In a rare moment of clarity between rehabs and binges, she assigned Wendy as a conservator of the miniscule amount remaining in her bank account.

"Let me know if you need anything, love. You hear me?" Veronica yanked her back to the present.

"Yes, Mother," she joked. "I'll talk to you later."

Yael ended the call as the cabbie pulled up to the curb.

She spent an hour wandering and thinking, people watching, feeling her nerves slowly untangle. When baking didn't help or she wasn't near a stove in LA, she hiked. There was a spot in the Hollywood Hills, above the Hollywood sign, where she could see the ocean on a clear day. She used to sit there, sometimes as long as six hours, rationally sorting through her bad decisions or trying to recall lost chunks of time. She didn't have that luxury here, in the middle of the city, so ambling through Central Park worked in a pinch.

Twenty minutes til the meeting, she trekked to an old Presbyterian church where the Narcotics Anonymous meeting was being held. The promise of being someplace where people understood her soothe the last of the negative thoughts, and her hands stilled for the first time in two days.

Inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee greeted her, reminding her of every other meeting she'd ever been to, people from all walks of life trying to take up the least amount of space possible. She sat in a middle pew and drew in multiple deep breaths, a ritual she carried since her first meeting. Talking about her addiction, and what drugs erased, always left her vulnerable and shaky. To stand in front of a room full of strangers and admit her darkest thoughts, deeds, and shortcomings was a terrifying experience. Still, Yael understood the healing and cleansing aspect of it, that she didn't have the luxury of being shy or afraid. Here, she wasn't alone.

Soon, those feelings passed as the familiarity and routine of the meeting took over. They opened with the Serenity Prayer, and she closed her eyes, mouthing the words.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

When it came her time to share, she didn't hesitate to stand up and speak.

"Hi, my name is Yael. I've been an addict for eight years and clean for three hundred and twenty days. I fled the city after 9/11 and refused to set foot here again. At least, until yesterday. Turning to drugs helped me forget that terrible day, watching my parents die from a few yards away. Being trapped after the collapse. The stress of coming back here, of not being good enough for my old life, makes me want to shoot up. Lose myself. I feel the needle in my arm. It calls to me. Sometimes, it's almost impossible to ignore." She paused, lost in the ecstasy she shamefully missed. "It feels like yesterday... my first high. How the euphoric rush erased every bad thing that's ever happened to me. When I came down, I slept without the nightmares for the first time since that day. So, I made sure I was always high, alienating myself from anything that could connect me to who I used to be.

Yet here I am," She waved out an arm. "Back here." A shuddering breath. "My grandmother is dying and expects me to be a woman I don't even know anymore. My demons haunt me, telling me I'm nothing but a pathetic addict and have no right to be anything more, but I'm stronger than my addiction."

As the weight lifted from her chest with each word, Yael recognized the concern and understanding in the expressions of those in the room, and her galloping pulse slowed. This was the most gratifying part of a meeting, strangers who heard her shame and did not judge, because they'd been there too. Plenty still were. And, it gave her a chance to offer another lost soul hope to prove it could be done.

After she finished and the next took up the mantle, she relaxed into the pew as contentment took hold. Idly, she traced her tattoo. Often, she glanced down, surprised the semicolon was still there because she rubbed it so much.