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The next morning, I awoke with the sun streaming down on a massive four-poster bed, my breasts rock hard with milk, as happy

as I had ever been in my life. JB was curled around me. I scooted my butt closer to him, remembering the night before. He

had carried me in here, me clinging to his front like a koala.

I kept my eyes closed and experimentally rolled my ankle. It didn’t hurt as much as I’d feared. I pushed my foot out from

under the covers and opened my eyes, peered down at it. It was swollen and there was a purple bruise on the outside, right

below my ankle. It didn’t look all that bad, though. I became aware of a buzzing sound, my phone on the nightstand. I grabbed

it in time to see Jinx was calling. It went to voicemail before I could answer. I’d told him I was spending the night. I figured

he just wanted to see when I would be home, make sure I was okay, but when I opened my phone, I saw there were six missed

calls and my stomach dropped. Bodhi.

I called Jinx back immediately. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I was still asleep, is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Jinx said, but his voice sounded weird.

“What happened?”

“I need you to come home,” Jinx said.

“Why? What happened? I’m on my way. Is he okay?” I was sitting up now and JB was awake beside me.

“There’s someone here to do a home inspection for Bodhi’s well-being.”

“From the 730?!” I was straight panicking. “They weren’t supposed to come until Tuesday!”

“Okay, well, they’re here now, and, uh, your presence is requested. She says if you can’t be here in fifteen minutes, she’ll

need to take him with her to her office.”

“Fuck, okay, I’ll be right there.”

JB had me back at the apartment in less than eight minutes. I’d rinsed my mouth with water and wiped the mascara from under my eyes, but my hair was a hopeless mess, I had a major sex tangle in the back, and I hoped it wasn’t too obvious I was in last night’s clothes.

JB started to unbuckle to walk me in. I stopped him. “I don’t want to have to explain who you are,” I said.

“But you can’t get up the stairs,” he said.

“I can,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I feel like I should—”

“Please,” I said, “trust me. It will look way worse if you go in with me.” It would be one thing if JB and I had time to come

up with a lie, some alternate story as to how we met. I had told Dr. Sharp I didn’t have a boyfriend, so I couldn’t go into

this home inspection with a guy I’d clearly just fucked and be forced to admit, yeah, he was one of my fans!

“At least let me help you to the door,” he said.

“Nope!” I said, and slid out of his car. “I’ll text you as soon as this is over,” I promised, and did my best not to show

how much it hurt as I hobbled up the stairs, my heels in one hand.

I let myself inside and found my dad with a woman I’d never seen before, sitting together on the pink velvet couch in a large

patch of sun. They looked beautiful, God-lit.

“Oh, hello!” The woman heaved herself up. She was at least seven months pregnant and as cute as can be, wearing a black maternity

dress printed with white flowers, a white T-shirt underneath for modesty. There was a tattoo of a star on the inside of her

wrist, I noticed as we shook hands.

“Are you Margo? My name is Maribel. I’m with Child Protective Services.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” I said. My heart was beating so loudly, it was hard to hear. “I thought it was supposed to be

Dr. Sharp. Isn’t the appointment next week?”

I looked to Jinx, who was now standing and bouncing Bodhi, who’d begun to fuss. He didn’t meet my eye.

“Well, I don’t know anything about Dr. Sharp, and there was no appointment, so I’m afraid you must be thinking of something else. I’m with CPS. We received a complaint of possible neglect and abuse. This home visit is standard procedure. Hopefully we can go through everything and make sure this is a safe environment for your little guy. I’ve already walked through the apartment with James here.”

“Are you going to take him?” I asked, my voice breaking. That’s what Jinx had said, that if I wasn’t there in time, she would

take him. I had made it, but would she take him anyway?

Bodhi was fussing in Jinx’s arms. Jinx was bouncing him helplessly. “I think he needs to nurse,” he said, handing him to me.

“Oh, of course,” Maribel said, and gestured to the couch. I did not want to take her spot, but I knew if I sat on the floor

I’d never be able to get up with my ankle, so I sat and whipped out a boob as discreetly as possible.

“Today we’re evaluating the home,” Maribel said. “If we don’t find imminent danger to Bodhi, then he can remain here.”

I nodded anxiously.

“So James said you were staying at a friend’s house?” Maribel prompted.

“Yeah,” I said, afraid of contradicting anything he had already told her.

“Do you do that a lot?” she asked.

“This was the first time, actually. First night away.” The shame was quick and wrenching. I couldn’t believe I’d left him

here, that I’d been so selfish.

“I see,” she said in a way that made it clear she didn’t believe me at all. “Well, I suppose everyone needs a break sooner

or later. So I was asking James exactly what you do for a living. He said you have a website?”

“I’m no good at explaining it,” Jinx said, making wild I’m sorry eyes behind Maribel.

“I’m like a content creator? We make TikToks mainly right now. I think eventually we’ll branch into YouTube.” If she didn’t

already know, then I certainly didn’t want to tell her.

“But you also have an OnlyFans account?” Maribel asked.

She already knew. “Yeah,” I said, almost dizzy with fear. “I’m confused—is this related to the 730 evaluation?”

“So you’re also undergoing a 730 eval right now?” Maribel asked.

“I mean, yes?” I said. Probably that looked even worse.

“As part of a custody dispute? Divorce?”

“No, paternity,” I said.

“Oh my God, your ankle!” Jinx cried. He had just seen it. I’d texted him that I was spending the night with JB, but I hadn’t

mentioned that I had fallen down the stairs and we’d never even made it to the restaurant.

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to hide it behind my other foot.

“Did you fall?” he asked.

“Yes,” I admitted, “in the stupid heels.”

“Had you been drinking?” Maribel asked.

“No,” I said quickly. I didn’t turn twenty-one for a few more months. “Just a klutz.”

Maribel’s brow was knitted. Anyone, I realized, would think I had been out drinking. My hair was messed up, I was wearing

last night’s clothes, a sprained ankle, and she knew about the OnlyFans—Jesus Christ, how much worse could this even get?

“So tell me about Mr. Bodhi,” she said. She was clearly trying to be friendly, which I wouldn’t have expected. “What he likes,

what he doesn’t like. What’s his personality?”

“Oh gosh,” I said. No one had ever asked me what Bodhi’s personality was before. It seemed like an intricate thing to describe,

given that he wasn’t talking yet and all my maternal insight was based on vibes. “He’s my only baby, so I can’t compare him

to other babies, but he’s very joyful and.. . happy.” As I was speaking Bodhi shat an incredible volume, warm and thick,

I could feel it through his diaper against my arm. “He’s, uh, I mean, he’s a pretty normal baby, I think?”

“Why don’t you show me Bodhi’s room.”

“Oh,” I said, “his crib is in my room.” I stood and went light-headed at the pain. I tried not to let it show.

“We were waiting to go in your room till you got here,” Jinx said, in a way that said, You better not have a robot dildo on your desk or something . And he was right to worry, though I didn’t think Maribel would know to be suspicious of the Dyson in its shiny new box sitting

in the corner. I had no idea exactly what state I’d left my room in as I was getting ready for my date, and sure enough, as

I hobbled through the door, I saw a pair of panties that hadn’t made it into the hamper. I bent to scoop them up, my ankle

threatening to give out entirely, and I could feel the poop from Bodhi’s diaper start to leak down my arm. I was so anxious

I was actually quivering.

“And these are his toys?” Maribel gestured at a single sad octopus toy on my bed. Each tentacle said the name of a color in

both French and English.

“Oh, he has more, hold on,” I said, and dragged out the big plastic bin of his toys from the closet. Every time I moved, I

lurched around like a cartoon hunchback. I had no idea if it was a normal amount of toys, wildly too much, or not enough.

Mainly I was trying to judge whether she could smell the poop.

“That just a closet?” Maribel said, peeking into the dark closet. And in that moment, I remembered the toilet paper bundle

of syringes I’d stashed there. I’d never thrown them away. They were tucked behind my shoes, boots, and things I didn’t wear

often. You couldn’t see them, and I’d forgotten they were even there. My ears were ringing.

“Is this where you change him?” she asked, gesturing at the dresser. The changing pad was on the floor and the dresser top

was bare wood. The fact that she’d turned her attention away from the closet was a massive relief, but I found myself unable

to speak fluently.

“I usually change him on the floor?” I said. “I’m paranoid about him rolling off. Not that I would let him roll off or leave

him up there or anything.”

“And do you have a boyfriend? Anyone come around?”

“No,” I said, my voice wobbling. “No boyfriend.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Not seeing anyone even casually?”

I felt like she could see everything JB and I had done on that massive four-poster bed, my body on top of him, his strong

hands squeezing my tits until milk ran down his arms, my sudden flash of embarrassment and then the way he growled with delight.

“Maybe casually,” I admitted.

“Does he ever spend the night here?” Maribel asked.

“No,” I said quickly.

“I need to do a physical exam of Bodhi to make sure there are no bruises or lacerations or other signs of abuse,” she said

brightly.

“Oh,” I said, “as we were talking, he definitely pooped, let me get him changed.”

“That’s okay,” Maribel said. “I can change him. I’ll need to look under his diaper anyway.”

She held out her arms for me to hand over my shitty child. I almost couldn’t make myself do it. I followed her as she knelt

on the ground to change him on his changing mat, which was awkward given her pregnant belly. There was poop on my arm. I snagged

a wipe to clean it off as surreptitiously as I could. It was a major blowout, and it was clear Maribel didn’t have a ton of

diaper-changing experience. She wasn’t using the wipes efficiently and was fighting hard not to gag. I could not imagine this

was good. Why had she not allowed me to change him? It was such a weird power move. I’d not been breathing normally for some

time and there were purple spots in my vision.

After she’d finally gotten him clean, she pointed to a bit of diaper rash. “What’s this?”

“It’s diaper rash,” I said.

“Have you been doing anything to treat it?”

I told her I’d been putting Boudreaux’s Butt Paste on it and explained he’d begun eating more solids. I thought his poop was

more acidic.

“This is diaper rash?” she asked again.

“Yes,” I said. What did she think? That I’d been burning his little butt cheeks with a curling iron?

After that, she wanted to talk with me at the dining room table. Jinx took Bodhi. Suzie had come out of her room and was watching

everything, silent and sad-eyed. She and Jinx disappeared into the living room with the baby, and I could hear Sesame Street in the background. I tried to relax. At least we were farther away from the closet.

“And what does Jinx do for work?” she asked.

“He’s retired,” I said.

“What did he used to do?”

I could not see how this was germane to Bodhi’s safety, but I didn’t want to seem difficult. “Um, he was a professional wrestler?”

Maribel looked up, skeptical. “For real? Like with WWE?”

“Actually, he was kind of independent,” I said. I knew that made it sound worse, like he wasn’t legitimate. But there was

no way to explain that he could be independent only because he was so famous.

“Any substance abuse problems?” Maribel asked.

I worried I would throw up. “Me?” I asked, stalling. I didn’t know what to do. I knew Ward had told me to lie to Dr. Sharp

at the home visit, but this was a different situation.

“No, your father. Have you had any substance abuse problems?”

“No,” I said.

“But your father has never had substance abuse problems even in the past?” Maribel pressed.

She had to know. There was no other reason for her to be asking, I realized. Plus, there were about two decades’ worth of

tabloids and wrestling blogs reporting my dad was in rehab; all she’d have to do was google him. “In the past, yes,” I said.

“But he’s in treatment and he’s doing really well.”

“So you think he’s clean now?” Maribel asked. “I’m going to ask both of you to provide a urine sample.”

I had no idea if methadone would show up on a drug test. I was guessing it might. “He’s currently on methadone,” I said. “So

that may show up on his urine test.”

“Oh, so he’s on methadone?” The tone in Maribel’s voice changed. “How long has he been on methadone?”

I hesitated. If she asked to see proof he was in treatment she’d see the dates, so I couldn’t imagine lying. The truth didn’t

sound great, though. “About ten days.” I wanted to explain about him being clean, then his back going out, the ER doctors,

the vicious cycle of chronic pain, but it felt like I’d swallowed a chunk of ice.

“Ten days?” Maribel asked, even though she’d heard me perfectly fine.

I nodded, and she was quiet for a bit, busy writing things down. I stared at the ceiling. It felt like the whole world was

ending.

“Do you use any illegal substances?” she asked.

“No,” I said firmly.

“So you don’t use drugs of any kind?”

“No.” I stared at her. She stared at me. She was waiting, certain I would crack and confess that actually I did smoke pot

now and then. But she could suck it because I absolutely did not smoke pot now and then. Finally, she looked down at her notebook.

“Okay then, let’s get the urine tests over with, shall we?” she said.

“My pleasure,” I said. She took a plastic urine sample cup from her purse, which felt very wrong and way too intimate, and

handed it to me.

It was a relief to be alone in the bathroom. I peed in the cup. Being pregnant I had peed in an awful lot of cups, and it

was much easier now that there wasn’t a big belly in the way. When I came out, Jinx was holding his cup and waiting to go

in, looking cold with dread.

Maribel was by the front door, chatting with Suzie, who had Bodhi on her hip. Suzie looked so small suddenly, like a child

holding her baby sibling. When Bodhi saw me, he squealed and reached his little arms out for me, babbling, “Mamamamamamamama,”

and I swooped him up and kissed his fat cheek.

“So what I’m going to do,” Maribel said, “is check in with some other members of your family—your mom, your stepdad—talk to

them, talk to Bodhi’s pediatrician. And I have your financial statements, James got me those.” She smiled almost too widely,

showing her beautiful tiny teeth like pearls.

“So with the 730...” I began. I was hoping it was somehow illegal for her to interfere in that process, some attorney-client

privilege or HIPAA thing? At the very least, it seemed like CPS should wait until the accusations were substantiated before

they went to Mark and told him Jinx and I were porn-addled drug addicts who ate too much sugary cereal.

“I can speak to your lawyer,” she said. “The case will be under your name, I can find it.”

“Oh,” I said, my heart sinking. “Okay. Who filed the complaint against me?” I asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“That’s confidential information, unfortunately,” Maribel said. “We’ll get your urine tests back, and we can go from there. One thing I can tell you is that Jinx will need to get off methadone in order for Bodhi to stay in the home, so he may want to talk to his doctor about that.”

“Wait, what?” I said. “He just got on the methadone.”

“It’s our policy that caregivers should be clean and able to pass a drug test in order for the child to remain in the home.”

It was creepy how she kept calling it “the home.”

“But methadone is a treatment for substance abuse. Why would you want people with substance abuse problems to stop receiving

treatment for those problems? What if they relapse?”

“It’s policy,” Maribel said. “And we don’t require they stop treatment. In fact he will have to show proof of being in some

kind of treatment, usually a twelve-step program.”

I had done all this research when we got Jinx on the methadone in the first place, so I said, “But why, when methadone has

a success rate of sixty to ninety percent, and twelve-step programs have a success rate of between five and ten percent? Why

would you insist people adopt the less successful, less science-backed treatment option?” These were the longest sentences

I’d managed to speak the whole time.

“In the eyes of the California court system, methadone is just another name for heroin.” She shrugged.

“But it’s not, ” I said.

“And yet it is,” she said, smiling confidently.

Bodhi squealed and reached out, grabbing at Maribel’s sleeve. “Sorry,” I said, trying to detach his tight little fist from

her T-shirt.

“He’s cute,” she said a little sadly, like she already knew I would lose him. “Look at it this way: when his urine test comes

back, your father will test positive for opiates. They could be methadone, or they could be heroin. We have no way of knowing

the difference.”

“But you do have a way of knowing because you have paperwork stating he is in a methadone treatment program,” I said. I knew

the last thing I should do was get heated, but this was maddening.

“He could also be using. Lots of people on methadone continue to use.”

“His doctor said the methadone blocks the euphoria of the high,” I said.

“Doesn’t stop people from trying,” Maribel said.

Then Jinx was behind me, holding out his pee cup. “Everything okay?” he said.

“This looks great!” Maribel said, as she accepted his pee and put it in her purse. Okay, it wasn’t a purse-purse, it was like

a tote bag. She didn’t even check to make sure the lid was on tight, just popped it in a Ziploc bag and tossed it in. “We’ll

be in touch,” she said, like this was a job interview.

And I heard Mark’s voice in my head: “Words can be made hollow, and once they are hollow, anything can be done with them.”