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“I’m not mail that can just be brought in by some random person, Sloane! I need you home now!” Her mother began an unrelenting tirade.

“There is only so much I can do, Mother. I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” she replied, her hands trembling as she searched her contacts for the care agency.

The woman from the agency explained what happened and that Flor was still in the house waiting to be relieved. It was their policy never to leave a patient alone no matter what, but no one was on hand to take her place. Sloane’s heart broke imagining the poor woman trapped in the house,

listening to her mother spout vile, hateful things. She didn’t wish that on anyone.

Hustling back to her o ce, Sloane decided to grab her things and get to court early. If she talked to the clerk, she might be able to get her cases heard first. It was just a few status checks and the same public defender was assigned to all of them. As mortifying as it was to ask for special accommodations, it was the only way to get home as quickly as possible.

“Everything okay?” Arwyn asked the moment she returned, her huge brown eyes peering up at her like anti-bullshit talismans.

Sloane averted her attention to her rolling briefcase full of files. “Yeah, fine. I’m just going to see if I can get to court a little early.”

Arwyn glanced at the dry-erase calendar marking the court appearance schedule for the month of October. “Two hours early? I don’t think that’s feasible,” she said, standing. “What’s going on?”

Sloane desperately wanted to respond with something witty to throw her o the scent of her distress, but nothing was coming to mind. All she could think about was poor Flor and how upset the kind woman must be in the face of hateful accusations. Would she be worried about losing her license?

Sloane didn’t need to be there to know that she hadn’t tried to kill her mother.

“Hey,” Arwyn walked around the shared part of the desk and gently grabbed her forearm. “You’re shaking.”

The contact made Sloane jump. Not because it was unwanted, but because it had been so long since anyone

touched her. When Arwyn retracted her hand, she wanted to explain, or apologize, but nothing came out.

“It’s fine, I just have to . . . um . . .” Sloane couldn’t think, she couldn’t even focus her blurry vision.

“If you have to go, go. I can cover for you,” Arwyn said cautiously, as if o ering a wounded animal a bit of food while simultaneously fearing an attack.

“It’s a bunch of status checks. I don’t have any notes prepared,” Sloane started, her attention darting from her bag to Arwyn.

“Do you know it all o the top of your head?” she asked, moving around Sloane and reaching for the handle.

“Yeah, but—”

“So go and call me from the car. I’ll make notes. I’m scheduled after you anyway. It’s not a big deal.”

The last thing Sloane wanted was to owe her anymore.

She’d already done her too many solids. At this rate she’d never get out of debt.

Sloane’s phone buzzed in her pocket. “Okay, thank you, but let me take your bonds for the next couple of weeks in exchange, yeah?”

Her dimples cut into her face as she smiled. “Deal.”

Driving home was mostly a blur after she got o the phone with Arwyn. When Sloane pulled into her driveway, she’d had a dozen conversations with her mother and all of them ended with her packing her bags and leaving. She wasn’t going to enable her anymore. Pity only took her so far.

“Flor,” Sloane rushed toward the woman standing in the hallway outside her mother’s room, still shaken up. “Are you

okay? What happened?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she replied, her round face red.

“She was having a good day. Her friend Vivienne came to see her in the morning. It sounded like they had a lovely visit, and everything was fine when she left. Then your sister called—”

Sloane’s stomach dropped. “And it all went to hell,” she guessed, not needing confirmation.

“When I brought her lunch, she threw it on the floor.”