My sister April had been the person I called when everything went wrong.

The front door opened with a sudden, careless jerk.

"Hey, kiddo! I'm back!" April's voice sang out, slurred and loud. "The catering event ran super late, but I brought you guys some leftover slider rolls—"

April stepped into the living room, swinging a plastic grocery bag in one hand and her car keys in the other.

She froze.

Her eyes, heavy with dark eyeliner and glassy from alcohol, darted from the tall uniformed police officer standing by the hallway, to the splintered back door visible through the kitchen archway, and finally to me, sitting on the floor with Nell clutched in my arms.

The smell of stale beer, cheap cherry lip gloss, and cigarette smoke rolled off her in waves. She was wearing a tight black tank top, leather-look leggings, and high-heeled ankle boots.

Not catering clothes. Bar clothes.

"What the hell is going on here?" April barked, her voice dropping the cheerful facade instantly. Her eyes flared with defensive aggression. "Jasmine? Why are the police in my house? What did she do?"

She pointed an accusatory finger directly at Nell.

I felt a surge of rage so violent, so volcanic, that the room actually went red around the edges. I gently set Nell back on the chair, stood up, and walked across the living room until I was standing inches from my sister's face.

"What did *she* do?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet, vibrating with venom. "She kept your three children from being murdered while you were shaking your ass for tips at *The Rusty Nail*, you miserable piece of trash."

April’s face drained of color, the alcohol haze instantly shattering under the weight of my words. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, taking a step backward toward the open front door. "I was catering. At the hotel downtown—"

"Save it, April," Officer Sanchez interrupted, stepping forward, her hand resting firmly on her utility belt. "We found your work schedule. We found your loan notices. And we have the shoe print of the man who kicked in your back door trying to collect the money you owe."

April’s eyes darted frantically around the room. She was trapped, and like any cornered predator, she decided to attack.

She whipped her head back toward me, her lip curling into a vicious sneer. "Oh, so now you're the saint, Jasmine? You come in here with your scrubs and your high-and-mighty attitude? You paid me three hundred and fifty dollars a month! Do you have any idea how pathetic that is? You think three-fifty covers forty hours a week of childcare?"

"If it wasn't enough, you should have told me!" I screamed, the tears finally breaking through. "I would have found another job! I would have figured it out! You don't leave my twelve-year-old daughter to raise your kids! You don't drug your own babies with cough syrup so you can go get drunk and flirt with truckers!"

"I did what I had to do to survive!" April shrieked back, her face mottled red with rage. "Colin doesn't pay child support! I have bills! Nell was sitting here doing nothing anyway! What's wrong with her watching her cousins? In our grandmother's day, twelve-year-olds ran whole farms! She had a roof over her head, didn't she? I fed her, didn't I?"

"You starved her," I hissed, stepping right into her personal space, my finger jabbing into her collarbone. "You fed her hot dogs bought with pocket change. You stole her childhood. You threatened her that we'd end up in a homeless shelter if she told me the truth. You made her carry a butcher knife into a closet tonight to protect *your* children while you were buying weekend trips to the Poconos!"

April flinched at the mention of the Poconos. Her eyes flicked toward the kitchen counter where her open planner lay.

"You went through my things?" she gasped, trying to sound outraged. "You had no right! This is my house!"

"And you have no right to those children," Officer Sanchez said calmly, pulling a pair of handcuffs from her belt. "April Vance, turn around and put your hands behind your back."

"What? No! For what? I didn't break in! Somebody broke into *my* house!"

"You are being placed under arrest for three counts of felony child endangerment, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and reckless endangerment," Sanchez stated flatly, grabbing April's wrist with practiced efficiency.

"Jasmine! Tell them!" April screamed as the steel cuffs clicked around her wrists. "I'm your sister! I helped you pack when Mark left you! I gave you a place to stay! You owe me, Jasmine! You owe me!"

I looked at the woman who shared my blood. I looked at the dark roots of her dyed hair, the smudged mascara running down her cheeks, the sheer, narcissistic entitlement dripping from every pore.

For four years, I had walked around with an imaginary debt hanging over my head, believing I had to bow down to April because she had handed me cardboard boxes during the worst week of my life. I had sacrificed my own daughter's safety and happiness to repay a debt that was never real.

"I don't owe you anything, April," I said, my voice steady, cold, and clear. "Not a single damn cent. We are done."

"Jasmine! Don't let them take my kids! Jasmine!"

Two more officers entered the house, taking April by the elbows and marching her backward out the front door into the freezing sleet. Her screams echoed down the quiet suburban street until the back door of the cruiser slammed shut, cutting off the noise.

Down the hallway, the sound of a small child crying began.

Henry, the six-year-old, had finally woken up. He stood in the hallway rubbing his eyes, wearing dinosaur pajamas, terrified by the flashing blue lights reflecting through the windows.

"Aunt Jas?" he whimpered. "Where's Mommy?"

My heart squeezed. Even with all the hatred burning in my chest for April, the children were innocent. They were victims of her neglect just as much as Nell was.

Officer Sanchez turned to me. "County social services will be here in twenty minutes to take temporary custody of the three little ones until their father can be located."

I looked at Henry, then down the hall toward the bedroom where little Abby was starting to stir.

"I'll stay with them until CPS arrives," I said softly.

Nell walked up beside me, slipping her small hand into mine. Her fingers were still cold, but the violent shaking had stopped.

"I'll help you get their coats, Mom," Nell said quietly.