Jo shook her head quietly, hand wrapped so tight around the empty glass she felt sure she could crush it. She looked out at the dying rays of sunset over the clouds. They looked like blood and bandages. Her head throbbed with the memory of the warning from Social Services.
Drunk and
disorderly... neglectful
behaviour
could prove a danger to her child and others... a care home may be the only option...
Jo snapped herself out of it,
blinking the well of moisture away from her eyes. She’d paid her dues in anguish and self-reproach during her months in rehab. Sophie had brought her flowers the day she came out, daffodils from Nanny’s garden, her little Pumpkin. They were a family again. No one could ever take that away from them.