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I barely felt her helping me into a chair. I couldn't take my eyes off the woman lying in front of me.

Even after everything she'd put me through, some part of me had always believed there would be another chance. Another conversation. Another opportunity for her to finally get clean.

But looking at her now, I knew there wouldn't be.

Ms. Harris crouched slightly beside me.

"Ms. Sinclair, can you confirm whether this is your mother?"

I tried to answer, but my throat closed around the words.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I nodded.

"Yes," I finally whispered. "That's my mama."

Ms. Harris rested a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

I stared at my mother's face, my chest aching so badly I could hardly breathe.

I'd spent my whole life begging that woman to choose me over the drugs.

Now I was sitting in a room wishing she'd just open her eyes.

"Ma," I whispered through my tears, "why couldn't you just get better?"

And for the first time in my life, there was no chance she'd answer.

Chapter 22

SIX MONTHS LATER — BRIARWOOD

If somebody had told me six months ago that I'd be living in a town where the most exciting thing to happen was the grocery store getting a new self-checkout machine, I would've told them to put the crack pipe down.

Yet here I was. Briarwood. A quiet little town tucked between Rosemont and Westhaven, where the traffic was light, the people were friendly enough, and everybody seemed to be in bed before ten.

Surprisingly, I liked it.

My apartment wasn't anything extravagant, but it was mine. One bedroom, one bathroom, a cozy living room, and a kitchen with enough counter space for me to cook without knocking shit over. I'd caught some good clearance sales when I first moved in and managed to furnish the place without spending a fortune. My cream-colored couch sat against the living room wall with a couple of decorative pillows, and a glass coffee table rested on the rug I'd found at HomeGoods. A few pictures, some curtains, and a couple of plants had turned what started as an empty apartment into somewhere I actually enjoyed coming home to.

The neighborhood was quiet, the complex was well-maintained, and my neighbors mostly kept to themselves. It wasn't some luxury apartment with a rooftop pool and a concierge, but it was comfortable, clean, and safe.

Most importantly, it was mine.

I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, smoothing my fitted black maternity pants over my stomach before adjusting the cream blouse I'd picked out for work. My belly had grown enough that pretending I wasn't pregnant was officially out of the question.

Five and a half months.

I turned sideways, examining my reflection before resting a hand against the roundness beneath my blouse. Sometimes I still couldn't believe there was an actual human being growing inside me.

"Look at you," I murmured, smiling at my reflection. "Got your mama out here looking like she swallowed a basketball."

A small flutter moved beneath my palm, making me laugh.

"Don't start kicking me. I'm just saying."

I reached for my cardigan, pulling it over my shoulders as my thoughts drifted to the one person I'd spent the last six months trying not to think about.