Maggie’s father had named her after the song Maggie May right before he died. He’d left her with her mom, who was nineteen and now a widow. She did alright, at least as far as Maggie could tell. At least, until she took a whole bottle of sleeping pills one night.
Maggie found herself in the system, which wasn’t a good place for a fifteen-year-old girl. After a month in a foster home that cared more about the check they got from the state than they did about taking care of her she’d headed out on her own. As far as she knew, they were still getting the checks. They must be thrilled.
It was Christmas Eve, and a growth spurt in the months since she’d headed out on her own meant that her jacket no longer fit. She was long past the point where she could just force it…
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