I think one can tell a lot about a person from the way he chooses to let the stub of his cigarette burn out...
How long had it had been since she'd thought back on the evenings around the fire, number games at the kitchen table, or listening to her father sing? Too long. Yes, there had been bad times. And she had tallied them like figures in a column, not remembering to factor in the good. She had doctored the books.
Recovery is hard. Regret is harder.