Chapter 39 Melanie
MELANIE
Even though I’d just been wrapped in Nick's mind, body, and soul, I was silent on the drive home. A thick, aching silence stretched between us like a thread pulled too tight. I felt like I was splintering down the middle, torn between wanting my mom to disappear and wanting to be back in Nick’s arms, tucked away in the illusion of safety his house offered.
The truth sat like a stone in my gut—I had no idea where her head was at.
No idea what version of her would be waiting when we got back.
Pretending nothing happened felt easier than confronting the wreckage.
But God, I was so fucking tired. Nick had unraveled me completely—left me trembling and spent in the best way. Now, everything inside me was a dull throb. I just wanted peace. Quiet. A break from the chaos.
When we pulled into the driveway and I saw her car still there, relief slammed into me with a cold rush. At least she hadn’t driven drunk. But if she was hammered, that meant Loco had probably been cooped up the whole time—unfed, ignored, forgotten like always.
Nick hadn’t even fully stopped the car before I yanked my seatbelt off and bolted inside, dread crawling up my spine like icy fingers.
She was awake.
And Loco was curled in her lap.
She looked like hell. Eyes swollen and raw, her mascara a smudged wreck beneath them, like cracked paint on broken porcelain.
Her hair was a matted mess of blonde tangles, and the way she stared at her phone—blank and heavy—made something inside me twist. She looked like she was coming down from something. Or drowning in it.
She didn’t even flinch when I walked in. Just kept petting Loco with slow, shaky hands. A picture of too-late tenderness. I stood frozen. This scene wasn’t new. It was burned into me from childhood—this version of her. But it still cut.
Nick moved in behind me, his presence like a wall against the storm. He wrapped me in his arms and I let him. I needed the weight of him. Needed to feel tethered to something solid.
“Mom,” I whispered, voice barely more than a breath.
She looked up, and there it was—that sad little smile. The kind that made you feel like you were watching someone break in real time.
“Oh, hi honey,” she said, sniffling. “I was just looking through some old pictures. I forgot about a lot of these.” Her voice cracked a little. “You were such a beautiful girl, still are.”
Nick and I exchanged a glance—his eyes searching mine, like he wanted to reach in and carry the weight for me—but we both turned back to her in silence.
“Sometimes I wish…” She trailed off, not finishing her sentence. “We are so dumb when we are young. If I only knew now what I didn’t know then.”
“Mom?”I took a step closer. “What are you talking about?”
She stood up, causing Loco to jump off her lap and he trotted over to me. He sat in between Nick and I.
“I did it,” she said, finally picking up the freshly opened vodka bottle and pouring some into a glass.
She swung back the shot, then made a sour face as she downed it.
Instinctively, I reached for my throat, remembering the familiar burn that alcohol gave when it slid down, numbing the pains as the warm sensation filled my core.
“I told your dad, I want a divorce.”
My heart nearly stopped. She’s never played with the idea of ever leaving my dad. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her threaten him with the D word once. Granted, I never heard them fight, which was odd, since most couples fought—most couples who had some passion in their marriage anyway.
“You asked Richard for a divorce?”
“Yup,” she says, popping the p. She begins pacing back and forth. “I just have no idea what I’m going to do.” She stops to face me. “You know I can’t go back to that life we lived before Richard, I never want to be poor again.”
“Mom, it’s okay.” I walked closer to her and took her hands in mine. “I’m sure Richard will give you some money. He never cared when you spent it, so I don’t see why he wouldn't give you anything.”
“You guys were married for eleven years, right? You’ll get half his money.” Nick says with his back straight and shoulders out.
I whip my head around and see my mom laughing hysterically, and for a second, I thought she was deranged and genuinely lost it. Nick’s eyebrows draw together as he tilts his head slightly to the side.
“That’s the thing,” she says, bellowing over now.
“I signed a—” She’s laughing so hard she can’t even finish her sentence.
Nick and I exchanged a look, and I bit my lip, starting to worry now.
Her laughter began to subside, and she headed over to the coffee table where the vodka bottle sat and grabbed it, not bothering to pour any in the cup this time.
Tipping the bottle back, she takes a swig.
“A prenup.” Her voice comes out scratchy as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“A what?” My voice cracks with emotion.
“A fucking prenup.”
“Oh shit,” Nick mutters under his breath and even Loco whines tilting his head to the side.
“Can I ask why?” I asked cautiously.
“Because I’m an idiot. He wanted to make sure I loved him and not his money, so I wanted to prove to him I did and told him to go ahead and make me sign a prenup.
I didn’t think he would actually agree to it, but when he did, I couldn’t back down.
And that’s when you were getting made fun of at school, because I couldn’t even buy you a new pair of shoes. ”
My stomach rolls, and chills run down my spine as the memory of our old apartment comes flooding back.
“We were so broke, I had to look at the expiration date on every food before eating it, especially since you got sick one time and I had to rush you to the hospital, and then we got stuck with a huge medical bill. Remember that?”
I did remember. God, how could I forget?
It’s why I haven’t touched mac and cheese in almost eleven years.
The memory is burned into my body like a brand.
I was starving—gnawing, twisting, soul-deep hunger—and my mom told me she had to run down to her car.
That meant at least twenty minutes. It always did.
I didn’t know what she was doing back then, just that when she came back she smelled different, smiled too wide, and sometimes men I didn’t know would show up not long after.
But I know now.
“I do,” I say, barely louder than the breath catching in my throat.
“What happened?” Nick asked.
The words scrape out of me. “One day, I took it upon myself to make some macaroni, but when I opened the box, I saw tiny maggots inside.” My stomach twists just saying it.
“I thought I could boil the noodles and kill them in the water, but I didn’t realize the milk was expired.
I remember it tasting sour, but I was so hungry I ate it anyway.
” My eyes fall to my feet. My voice thins. “I ate it anyway.”
I look back up, and Nick looks gutted.
“Jesus,” he mutters, like he’s trying not to say more, but the weight of the image hangs in the air between us.
“Guess that’s why I have such a strong stomach and can hold my alcohol,” I say with a hollow little laugh that doesn’t feel like mine.
“I assumed, I just thought…” Nick trails off, lost. Dismantled. He thought I came from privilege. Most people did. That’s what I let them believe. It was safer that way. Easier than showing the bones underneath. But the truth is, I’m a survivor. Just like him.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says.
“Richard promised to wipe all that away. A clean slate.” Her voice is distant, swaying, like she’s not fully in her body.
She moves her arm through the air like she’s brushing off ghosts.
“He promised us a fresh start. A good life. And that’s all I wanted for you, honey.
” A broken sound escapes her lips—half laugh, half sob—and it slices through me.
“I was tired of seeing you so sad. A child should be happy and smile, and I couldn’t give that to you, so I thought, maybe…
” Her voice catches as she swipes a tear from her cheek.
“Maybe this was God answering my prayers. Because I did.” She looks down at her hands like they’ve betrayed her.
Nick leans forward, quiet and gentle, grabbing the tissue box off the table.
She takes one with trembling fingers. “I prayed every night,” she whispers, dabbing under her eyes.
“That I would land a movie deal or find some way to get us out of that hellhole. And that’s when I met Richard. ”
“That’s when you landed your first deal, and you came home screaming with joy.”
She nods, eyes glazed. “Ya. He thought I was too beautiful not to be on television.”
A small laugh bubbles up through her sniffles, fragile and haunting. “Later, when he found out I couldn’t act worth shit, he asked me to marry him, because he said he fell in love with me. And you.”
That’s when she lifts her gaze.
And I see her. Really see her.
Her eyes are bloodshot, raw, and rimmed in regret. Her whole face is crumpled, carved by pain she’s carried for years in silence. I’ve never seen her like this. Not her—always painted, always poised, always pretending. But now she’s unraveling right in fron of me, and it wrecks something inside me.
I launch forward. My body slams into hers like I can hold her together with my arms alone.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I never thought he would—” Her voice shatters mid-sentence as sobs break free. Her body trembles against mine, and I hold her tighter, bury my face in her shoulder, squeeze my eyes shut like I can will my own tears away.
“We’ll be okay,” I whisper. “I’m not a little girl anymore. You don’t have to worry about me now.”
“I’m your mom.” She pulls back just enough to look at me, her face wet and streaked with grief. “I’ll always worry about you.”
“You know what I mean. It’s my turn to help you.” My hands rub up and down her arms, grounding us both. “And I know it’s not much, but you can stay here until we figure things out.”
She nods slowly, eyes flickering with something close to hope. “Ya, okay.”
Nick speaks softly from nearby. “Would you like for me to make you something to eat, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Please call me Michelle. I don’t want to be reminded of that damn last name.”
He sets the tissues back on the table, his presence warm and steady. “Michelle, I make a mean grilled sandwich.” I glance over my shoulder and give him the smallest smile.
“You probably need to eat something. And you, Mrs. Consele, need to check your blood sugar.”
I glance at the clock—midnight. Hours since I last checked. He’s right.
“Grilled cheese? That was your favorite as a kid.” Her voice softens, and I turn to her.
“I know, we’ve kind of made it our—”
“Thing,” Nick finishes for me.
“Ya, it’s our thing.”