I wanted to make sure Bella was eating.

I had cooked for four, now I cooked for two, and always made too much, in plastic containers for the freezer the spare portions went.

One Saturday morning, I packed a stack of these plastic containers, filled with frozen delights, and headed off down the street to deliver them to Bella.

I knocked on her door and waited, I knocked again, harder this time–nothing. I rang her  mobile phone. ‘What?’ she asked, her tone was flat.

‘I’m stood outside your front door.’

The phone went dead; the door opened. I followed her up the stairs to the first floor landing. A haze of smoke lingered in her living room; the windows were firmly shut. A friend sat on the settee. ‘Hi,’ I said to her.

‘Bella, what’s happened?’ I asked.

She sat on the opposite settee to her mate, pulled her legs up for comfort. ‘Just a bit fed up, that’s all.’

A stack of furniture lent against the wall, storing, and cluttering her room for this friend I had not met before.

‘I don’t understand why you feel this way. Clean your house, go for a walk, come to us for dinner.’

‘She gets upset over The Big I Am,’ her friend enlightened me.

‘For goodness sake,’ I said, ‘get a grip. Why are you still bothering with him?’

Her friend sparked up again. ‘He comes here at night, takes what he came for, then leaves in the early hours.’

I looked at my daughter’s vacant, tired face. Such hope I had for her.

‘Oh Bella,’ is all I could say.

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I am the mother of two adult daughters, both much loved and cared for. The eldest thought she could handle social drinking and party drugs, she could not. There is a journey addicts relate to - their journey. As a mother I have healed through the written word. This is my journey.

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