A bell rings as I open the door to the Law Office of Wade and Lewis. The woman behind the reception desk smiles at me brightly. Her blonde hair is pinned back and sleek, and her suit jacket and white collared shirt makes her appear more put together than me.

I rummaged through my closet this morning, searching for something other than jean shorts and tank tops, but I came up empty.

So I went to Mom’s room and picked out a knee length dark red skirt and a pair of sandals that I managed to squeeze my feet into. I wore one of my white tank tops with one of my mom’s black cardigans to cover my shoulders.

My brown hair is tamer than normal since I took the time to straighten it, but the ends are frayed since I haven’t had a hair cut in over a year. I went lighter on the mascara and eyeliner, letting my hazel eyes shine through instead of bogging them down.

“Hello, how may I help you today?” the receptionist asks, sitting up straighter.

“I’m Jade Hart.” I step closer to her desk. “I have an appointment.”

Her eyes briefly scan the computer screen in front of her before she looks back at me. “Have a seat, and Mr. Wade will be with you in a moment.”

I want to ask how much this is going to set me back, how much money I’ll have to fork over to get out of this mess, but I don’t. This is my own fault, and I have no one else to blame, so I have to accept the consequences, no matter the cost.

I nod my head and walk over to the two chairs against the wall opposite her.

After I sit down, I run my hands over my skirt, staring at the deep red fabric.

Mom turns on the mixer and hands me the cup of flour as I stand on the balls of my feet to see in to the giant glass bowl.

“Pour in the flour–”

I dump the entire cup in the mixing bowl and flour puffs in my face, the dust settling all over my clothes.

“Slowly!” Mom yells little too late.

I cringe as I peek up at her from under my flour coated lashes. “Sorry.”

She grins before she lets out a loud laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls. I look down at my arms and hands and laugh along with her. I drop the measuring cup on the counter and wipe the flour off my arms, letting it coat the floor.

Mom steps in the flour with her bare feet and dances around.

Clutching my stomach, tears stream down my face as I watch her make even more of a mess, tracking flour all over the kitchen.

“Mom, what are you doing?” I ask through my laughter.

She shrugs. “No sense in making a fuss over the mess.”

She takes my hands in hers and twirls me around. She smiles brightly as we dance to the sound of our laughter around the kitchen.

She drops my hands and jumps on the counter, patting the space beside her. I hop up next to her, wiggling as I hum to myself.

She opens the container of icing next to her and dunks a spoon in the sugary goodness. She passes the spoon to me with a giant glob of icing it.

Eyes wide, I take it from her. “Can I eat it?” I ask, staring at the mountain of icing.

She nods. “Yep, you’ll need the energy to help me finish baking this red velvet cake and to clean up the mess we made.”

I beam as I stick the whole spoon in my mouth, eating the icing all in one bite before she changes her mind.

She dips one of her fingers in the icing and then taps me on the nose with the same finger.

“Ahh!” I screech.

“Now you’re as sweet on the outside as you are on the inside.”

I throw my arms around her neck, squeezing her as I wipe my nose across her cheek. “And now so are you.”

She places a kiss on my forehead, wrapping me up in a hug and holding me tight.

The phone at the front desk rings, and I blink serval times, wiping under my eyes.

Mom and I spent an hour finishing the cake before we mopped the floor. The cake turned out dry, but we still ate it, sharing a slice after dinner every day until there was none left.

I hear the click of a door, and my eyes search the waiting room until I notice a balding man heading in my direction.

He stops in front of me with a wide grin on his face. “You must be Jade.”

I smile, taking in his friendly appearance. Aside from the bald head, he reminds me of Santa. His belly is round, and his cheeks are full with a hint of pink. His eyebrows are bushy and gray, and a dainty pair of glasses rest on his nose.

“Yes, sir,” I say, standing from the chair.

“I’m Mr. Wade. It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. “Follow me to my office, and we can get started.”

I nod my head, and he flips around, striding through the waiting room to one of the three closed doors.

He opens the door on the right, and when I step inside, I take notice of the grand wooden desk, dark brown and shiny. The black leather chair behind his desk appears softer than my bed from the amount of padding on it. I take a seat in one of the gray chairs opposite his desk, running a hand through my hair.

He sits in the oversized chair and folds his hands on the desk. “You’re here because you have to appear in court?”

“Yes, sir.” I unfold the letter in my hand and pass it to him.

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he reads it silently as I wring my hands in my lap.

“Is this your first offense?” he asks, glancing up from the paper.

“It is.”

“That’s good.” He places the letter on his desk and leans back in his chair. “Tell me what happened.”

I stare at my lap before I look up at him, braving the judgement on his face. “I, uh, threw some toys through the window of my trailer and then kicked and punched it, while I was screaming…in the middle of the night.”

“Drinking? Drugs?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I wasn’t drunk, and I don’t do drugs.” I pause, wondering how much he needs to know about me. “My mom isn’t doing so well, and I let my emotions get the best of me.”

His face is stoic, and I’m grateful I don’t see sympathy. “Hmm. The good news is you didn’t damage someone else’s property. Since you’re a first-time offender, the court will be more lenient. I’ll talk to the district attorney to work out a deal.”

“That easy?” I ask, making sure my jaw doesn’t drop open.

“Yep, I’ll let you know what the agreement is when I speak with him. If everything goes accordingly, you might not even have to appear in court.”

My shoulders sag in relief at his words. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He smiles. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll be giving you a call in a couple of days. You can head back to the waiting area, and Karen will assist you with billing.”

I honestly don’t even care how much I have to pay. If he can get me out of this mess, I will give him everything to my name.

I stand from the chair and extend my hand to him. He takes it, holding my hand firm.

“Keep yourself out of trouble,” he says. “You seem like a good girl.”

“I will.” I drop his hand and walk out his door, feeling one brick lift from my shoulders.

This is almost over. Thank God.

I walk down the hospital hall, twirling the end of my hair around my finger.

I left Mr. Wade’s office feeling lighter, each of my steps easier as I made my way to the hospital. The ease he left me with isn’t something I’m akin to, but I’m learning it’s easier when you ask for help. People want to help me, and I think that’s what surprises me the most–that someone is in my corner when all I’ve felt for years is that I’m on a sinking ship all by myself.

I stop in front of Mom’s room, a faint smile forming on my face, but when I push the door open and see her in the hospital bed, it drops. Her hair is matted to her face, and her skin is pale like she hasn’t seen the sun in months.

I close the door behind me and walk through her room, stopping when I reach her side.

“Hey, Mom.”

She smiles, her eyes taking longer than normal to open when she blinks.

“How do you feel?” I ask, running the back of my hand down her cheek.

She inhales, the sound louder than the air conditioner running in her room. “I’m fine.”

I don’t believe her.

I sweep her hair away from her face as I press a kiss to her forehead. My chest tightens, and I fight to keep my face from contorting, revealing the anguish ripping through me. I can’t stand seeing her like this–dying and weak.

She’s young, not even fifty yet, but she looks like she’s in her sixties.

I grip the railing of the bed, watching over her like I can protect her from the hell she looks like she’s living in.

“Sit down, Jade. You’re making me nervous, hovering over me like I’m going to break if you take your eyes off me.”

She might. I’m not sure if I dread that fact every time I walk in here or if I’m wishing for it to happen. I don’t want her to die, but the question is, do I want to be here when it happens or as far away as possible? It’s a question I’ll never be able to answer because either way, I lose.

I sit on the chair I’m all too acquainted with, scooting closer to her.

“You look nice today,” she says, her eyes roaming over my attire.

“I borrowed some of your clothes. Sorry.” I wince.

“Don’t be sorry. They look good on you, but why are you dressed up?” she asks.

I’m not telling her I had meeting with an attorney because she’ll only ask more questions. “I just thought it would be a nice change.” I shrug.

She studies my face, searching for something. “You’re lying.”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing, Mom. Don’t worry about it,” I say, trying to ease her mind.

“You’re different,” she says, her voice going hoarse. I grab the cup of water off the small bedside table and hold the straw to her lips. She takes a sip before I put it back where I found it. “Thank you.”

“I’m not different,” I retort, trying not to squirm under her stare.

“Oh, but you are. You’re happy. I can see it pouring out of you. You know how?” she asks, bliss clear in her eyes.

“No.”

“Because it’s something I haven’t seen in a long time. It’s something that’s been absent from you for far too long. Being your mom, I can recognize the smallest flicker of joy, and honey, it’s radiating out of you. So tell me, why the change?”

I don’t want to admit it out loud, but after evading her other question, I know I need to give her something. But saying that a guy is the reason I walk a little lighter is embarrassing–like I’m a hormonal teenager, instead of a girl who has been through more than she ever thought she would.

I clasp my hands together, to keep from fiddling with them in my lap. “I found a friend,” I say simply, leaving it at that.

She smiles knowingly, an ease filtering through her eyes. “Bring him here.”

I shake my head, brows wrinkling. “What?”

“I want to meet him.”

“I didn’t say it was a guy.”

She reaches across the bed and holds her hand out for me to take, so I place my hand in hers, holding on tight.

“But I know it is,” she says. “Do this one thing for me. I want to meet him.”

It’s a stab in the gut, excruciating and unbearable because what she’s saying is, ‘Do this one last thing for me before I die. Honor my last request.’ It hurts more than it should. The weight of her words, slicing through my body.

I fist my hand in my lap, and with a shaky voice, I say, “Okay.”

There’s nothing to it. If this is what she wants, she can have it because I can’t give her anything else.

I hold back my tears, not allowing myself to cry, not letting myself break down in front of her when that’s all I want to do because this…it feels an awful lot like goodbye.