It was a strange new rhythm, this structured life of recovery and redemption. Three mornings a week, Junie arrived with her yoga mat and gentle smile, guiding him through stretches and exercises that barely registered on the heart monitor strapped to his chest. Afterwards, they would sit on the porch, sipping green smoothies she'd brought, and talk about everything and nothing. Those mornings were a balm to his soul, reminding him that healing didn't have to be punishing.
The AA meetings were a different beast entirely. Four nights a week, Hector and George would collect him, and together they'd drive to the community center. He'd sit with his hands clasped between his knees, listening to stories of struggle and survival, recognizing his own path in the tales of others. Some days he shared,……
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