I sat by my future husband's bedside while he hovered at death's door when his liver and kidneys shut down and he was in a several-day coma due to alcohol.
After we got married (big mistake on my part--chalk it up to excessive optimism with a healthy dose of denial), he went back to drinking to the point that after he lost his job, I would come home from looking for a SECOND job for myself, to find him passed out on the sofa.
I decided I had done whatever I could to help him when he went through the first hospitalization, and I didn't have it in me to go through another, when he was unwilling to continue to work on his own recovery. I wanted out before he was so sick I wouldn't be able to bear to walk away.
I was accused by him and one of his sisters of being "cold hearted". I wasn't. I still care, to this day, what happens to him, but I no longer have a front-row seat. He knows what to do. He can recover without me if he chooses to do it. His recovery did not, and does not, depend on my being there.
I hit my own bottom. I couldn't save him, but I could still save me.
I hope you were able to have a good day with your daughter. Sixteen is a BIG birthday to celebrate!