He Was Never Supposed To Stay

Hailey’s POV

When I walked into the dining room, the air felt weird. It didn’t smell bad like when I forget to close the trash can. It just felt heavy, like something was wrong.

I looked over and saw Mom sitting at the table. Her hair was a mess, more than usual, and she looked really tired. Her shoulders were slumped, and her face looked sad.

I frowned.

Did she and Dad have a fight?

No, that couldn’t be it. They never fought—at least not for real. They were one of those rare married couples who didn’t argue seriously. Their “fights” were the silly, lovey-dovey kind that made me and Jayson groan in disgust.

So then… what was wrong?

I looked at Mom again, really looked. That’s when I noticed the white paper in her hands. She was gripping it tightly, her eyes glued to the page like she was reading it over and over again.

She was so focused, she didn’t even notice me come in and sit down across from her.

“Did my school send you my report card in the mail?” I asked, wincing a little as I stared at the paper. School was still closed, but sometimes the teachers mailed report cards late.

I hadn’t exactly been doing great in school. It wasn’t terrible—nothing serious enough to get my parents involved—but it was bad enough to make me realize I needed to stop spending entire days binging TV shows and actually focus on my work.

Mom finally looked up from the paper, and the breath I didn’t realize I was holding caught in my throat. Her eyes were red and puffy, and dark circles had settled under them. She looked completely worn out. Honestly, she looked like crap—but of course, I wasn’t about to say that.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” I asked quietly. Suddenly, the room felt colder. Her eyes shimmered with tears that hadn’t yet fallen, and I felt a chill deep in my chest. I’ve seen her cry before—but never like this. Never with so much pain.

She let out a bitter, dry laugh.

“Can you believe the audacity of that bitch?”

I flinched, eyes wide as I stared at her. I had never heard Mom curse like that—especially not with so much anger. She and Dad always tried to keep things clean around me and Jayson. But today? Today, she clearly didn’t care.

“It’s been over seventeen years,” she said, her voice trembling. “Over *fucking* seventeen years since we last spoke. And she had the audacity to pull this on me.” Her words cracked with pain as she turned her gaze back to the paper in her hands.

I followed her eyes—and that’s when I noticed it. Another paper lying beside her, one I hadn’t seen before. I’d been too focused on her face, on the raw emotion there, to notice it until now. It looked handwritten, like a letter.

“Georgia was always a selfish, self-absorbed bitch,” Mom spat. “She never cared about anyone but herself. And now? Look where that got her. Look where that *fucking* got me.”

The pain in her voice cut deep, and hearing it made something twist inside me.

Dad was always better at comforting her. But he’d already left for work, and Jayson? He was still in bed, too young to really understand what was going on—he’d probably just wake up, ask for cereal or pancakes, and not even notice Mom falling apart in front of him.

Should I wake him?

No… it wouldn’t help.

I sat there, frozen, not sure what to do. I was terrible at emotional stuff—definitely not the person you’d go to for comfort. Still, my eyes drifted to the paper beside her. Slowly, I reached for it. I expected her to stop me, maybe snatch it away—but she didn’t. She didn’t even blink. Her eyes were locked on the paper in her hands like the world around her didn’t exist.

Was this an invasion of privacy?

Probably. But how was I supposed to understand what was going on if she kept speaking in half-formed thoughts and pain-soaked riddles? I just needed a glimpse. A quick peek. Just enough to make sense of the mess.

My eyes moved over the letter, noticing the faint marks—like teardrops had soaked into the paper. I glanced up at Mom just as she let out a shaky breath. Her hands trembled slightly, still clutching the other page like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

I pressed my lips together, then looked back down at the letter and began to read.

Dear Amelia

If you're reading this, then that means I'm no longer living. I know you must still hate me, I know, because you never answered my calls. I understand. I ruined your family. Maybe I even ruined your life. And for that, I am truly sorry.

I was a terrible friend to you. While you saw me as your best friend, I saw you as someone I had to beat. A rival. I don’t even know when things got that twisted. Maybe it was when I realized I could never be as perfect as you.

I did some terrible things to you and said even worse behind your back. I’ve regretted it every single day since. After I moved away, I tried to fix my life. But you know me, Bella—(I know Hudson’s the only one who calls you that, but I’ll say it this once because it fits)—I just couldn’t.

I couldn’t get my life together. I worked as a prostitute just to eat, standing for hours every day just to make ends meet. But it wasn’t enough—especially after I found out I was pregnant.

Carmelo... he was the best thing that ever happened to me. I knew I wasn’t ready to be a mother, but when I placed my hand on my flat stomach, a feeling unlike anything I’d ever known took over. I promised myself I’d protect him and do better.

But I couldn’t. The addiction to sex was stronger than I thought. Then the addiction to drugs took hold, trying to fill that emptiness. I know, I know—don’t give me that look. It got so bad that child protective services came more than once, ready to take Carmelo away until I could get back on track.

But I could never fully stop. I couldn’t put Carmelo through that again—having him live with a family for months while his mother tried to get clean. I couldn’t bear the disappointed look he gave me every time. The pain in his eyes when they pulled him from my arms. The fear when he pressed his hands against the car window, watching them drive away from me.

I really did try, Amelia. I really did. But we both know I was always the broken one.

I’m writing this letter not for myself, but for Carmelo. I know one day I’ll mess up so badly that I won’t be able to see my baby anymore. And I know it will be because of my own mistakes and bad choices.

But please, Bella, please—he deserves better than the families they placed him with. He deserves someone who truly cares. He deserves you.

I know you hate me and would rather tear this letter apart than read it. But please don’t. I may not be your best friend anymore, but you’re still mine. You’re the only one I trust with my life. And Carmelo is my life.

You’re the only one who won’t let him become someone like me.

I love you, Amelia, and I wish I had been a better friend to you. Please take care of him for me, will you? I know you’ll do better than I ever could.

Love, Genevieve.

I set the letter down on the dark oak table and swallowed hard. The pain in her words was raw, and I felt guilty for reading something meant only for Mom’s eyes.

“Genevieve, huh? You never mentioned her before,” I said quietly. Like I said, I wasn’t good at comforting.

Mom’s eyes lifted from the paper and looked at me—her expression unreadable. Then, in a flat voice, she said, “She wrote a will. She gave me her son.”

That didn’t exactly answer my question—it only made me more confused.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She let out a shaky breath, her distress clear. “It means that from now until he turns eighteen, I am Carmelo’s legal guardian.”