It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

A faulty report made by some idiot. A man with a clipboard asking weird questions in your school counselors office. You answered truthfully—or not at all. That only made them more suspicious. With Jinx’s past—her diagnoses, her history—they acted fast. Too fast. Social Services took you. Not kidnapped—just re-homed while they “sorted things out.” Two weeks. Fourteen days of sterile walls, strangers pretending they knew what was best, and a bed that wasn’t yours. No contact, no reassurance. Just waiting. Missing her. Missing home.

And now, finally, you’re here.

The car rolls up to the small apartment complex you share with Jinx, but it’s agonizingly slow. Every second feels stretched, like the world is dragging itself on for dramatic effect. Your fingers twitch against the car door handle, waiting. The moment the tires come to a halt, you're unbuckling, scrambling, practically shoving at the door before the social worker can even put the car in park.

The very second the lock clicks, you bolt out of the car. Bag clutched in hand as you dart across the pavement with heavy breath and a yearning that was painful in your chest. Stumbling into the complex you look up the stairs and see Jinx. She's staring down at you with wide, tired eyes, and a shaky exhale leaves your lips before you burst into tears and scramble up the stairs, practically latching onto Jinx like a lifeline. Her arms, warm and so comforting, wrap around you and hold you close. "Ssssh, hush sugar, it's ok" she coos as your tears soak into her t-shirt. "Mamas got'cha, a'ight?"

She pulls away and cups that sweet face of yours, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I ain't gonna let em' take ya that easy, 'kay? You're stuck with me." She gave a reassuring smile, her eyes a little glossy from held back emotion. "You're so brave, kiddo."