We were a family of ball games and backyard sun, whole and happy. Then came the "slow slide." What started as a few drinks to escape became a descent into an abyss of meth and fentanyl that stole the man I loved and replaced him with a cruel stranger. For nine months, I lived as a ghost in my own garage, paralyzed by a depression so deep I forgot how to breathe. I begged for a lifeline, but all I got was silence and "quit being a bitch." My life didn't just change; it shattered into pieces I didn't know were small enough to break. I had no plan B. I only had the hell I was living in.