Page 38 of Made for Mayhem

“Ms. Winslow,” the judge said, looking at me over his reading glasses. “I understand you arrived from Chicago yesterday?”

I nodded, hands clasped in my lap. “Yes.”

The caseworker flipped through a file. “She’s listed as next of kin and guardian nominee in Violet Winslow’s Will.”

There it was—my name attached to something heavy. I should’ve felt anchored by it. Instead, it felt like I was going to pass out, because oh shit, my sister had a Will because she⁠—

“Ms. Winslow,” the judge continued, “we have a few questions regarding custody of your niece, Juniper Winslow. I’ll hand it over to Sandra Diaz, your appointed caseworker.”

I nodded, the motion feeling a little violent I was breathing so hard. As if sensing my distress, Ty’s hand found mine under the table and slid into mine. Our fingers laced together, just like they had three years ago when that car had almost hit me. It shouldn’t have steadied me as much as it did, but something about him always seemed to make my racing mind slow down.

The caseworker tapped her papers on the table, then smiled at me. “Thank you for getting here so fast. It’s important to us that we do whatever we can to keep families together. I’m sure Juniper was glad to see you.”

That sounded nice, but I didn’t dare let the tension out of my shoulders, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Can you tell us about your current housing arrangements?”

Well, that didn’t take long. “I—uh—don’t have… arrangements.”

Her brow lifted, then she jotted something down on the paper in front of her.

I kept going before she could. “Chicago was home until about 48 hours ago, when my roommate ended my lease right before I got the news of”—my mouth went dry, unable to say the words my sister’s death aloud—“the news. I grabbed what I could reach and left.”

“I see,” Sandra said, which sounded a lot like Strike One. “And employment?”

One word made me want to sink through the floor, but instead I plastered on the fakest smile I’d ever worn. “I’m between jobs.”

That was the polite way of saying unemployed with a savings account as healthy as a six-day-old banana.

She nodded, then jotted some more, likely checking off boxes on a Reasons Daisy is a Disaster list.

“What about my sister’s house?” I looked at the judge, pleading with him not to dismiss me so fast. “My Aunt Maggie left it to us, so my name should be on the deed. Does that count as housing?”

He looked at Sandra, who put her pen down. As bad as her pen scratching across the paper was, this felt worse. “You’re correct, yes. Our office visited the property this weekend to collect some of Juniper’s belongings for Mr. Hudson. Unfortunately, the house is under extensive renovation. In its current state, by Colorado law, it is unsafe for a child. The kitchen needs to be gutted due to water damage. There is only one livable bedroom. But the real problem is the exposed wiring in just about every room.”

I blinked. “Wait. What?”

“Apologies. I assumed you’d already seen it.”

“No, not the inside yet. I stayed with Ty”—I winced at the judge—“Mr. Hudson.”

The judge’s expression stayed neutral, and that didn’t feel great either.

Sandra looked up at the judge, a sad smile on her face. “Given the current state of the home and the lack of other established housing, we’re classifying Ms. Winslow as unsafe for placement today.”

The breath whooshed out of me.

Just like that, I wasn’t enough.

Wasn’t qualified for this.

I’d failed my sister in ways I never had before.

I’d failed Junie.

“Please,” I begged, hardly recognizing my voice when it came out so weak. “She’s all I have left.”

My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall. “My mom. My aunt. My apartment. My job. My sis—my…”