In a talked-about LA Weekly series that ran in 2004, Celeste Fremon followed the travails and chronicled the hopes of Frances and Luis Aguilar and their six children. The Aguilars were former gang members living in Boyle Heights and trying to get their lives together. Things were going well enough for awhile, but Fremon updates the story this week with some unhappy turns, including Frances' arraignment Wednesday on charges of drug possession for sale.

Toward the end of 2005, there was a bleak period and one awful scare. Luis was out of work for a month before Christmas, and when he was rehired, an “enemy” homeboy shot at him in broad daylight, missing his head by less than an inch. During the bad times, Luis and Frances dealt with their stress the usual way, by arguing with each other. Then, as the year drew to a close, Frances, who had always been the family’s anchor, seemed suddenly beset by a deep emotional exhaustion that soon slid into depression — replete with crying jags and sporadic absences from her job at Homeboy Industries. In January 2006, she stopped going to work altogether, and had what can best be described as a nervous breakdown. “I can’t get out of bed,” she said wanly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

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By mid-February, Frances admitted she needed professional help and got a list of psychologists who took Luis’ insurance, then made the necessary calls. On Monday, February 20, Presidents’ Day, Frances was tentatively hopeful. Perhaps this was the breakdown she’d needed all her life, she said.

And then the next day, around 11 a.m., the raid.

When her house was last raided by the LAPD 16 months ago, Frances was hysterical. This time, as deputies broke open the front door, she was polite to the officers, who were polite in return, and mostly busied herself trying to soothe the kids. (“She seemed like a nice lady,” the team’s lead detective said later.) Two-year-old Gennisis, who had little experience with law enforcement, danced across the living room floor to greet the uniformed men, but Frankie, the 6-year-old, recoiled violently. “Not again, not again,” he chanted, then covered himself with a blanket as if hoping to vanish. Elijah, the 4-year-old, was excited. “The poom-poom guys are here” he yelled, gesturing at the cops. To Elijah, a "poom-poom" is a gun.

Shortly after the sheriffs’ arrival, two social workers appeared and told Frances they would be taking the kids into county custody. When the male social worker led them out, Frances wrapped a small blanket around each child. “Be on your best behavior, okay?” she told them. “I love you.”