Chapter 17
Hadley
Eli turned fourteen yesterday.
I tried to make it matter. I really did.
I ordered a train-shaped cake online three days earlier. Red and silver icing, tiny chocolate wheels, and the number fourteen piped in uneven blue frosting that looked slightly crooked but charming. It arrived in a cold delivery box at the gate, condensation clinging to the plastic cover.
I carried it upstairs carefully, like if I tilted it too far everything would collapse , the icing, the day, the fragile little moment I was trying to build for him.
I set up a small table in his room. The cake sat in the center like the main event.
Next to it, I placed a bag of his favorite sour chips, a liter of cola, and sliced apples because he still pretended he didn’t like sweets too much.
I even arranged the apples in a neat fan shape, something Zariah used to do when she wanted meals to feel “fancy.”
Then I hung three new drawings he’d done that week. Bullet trains slicing through mountain ranges. Tracks curving through cities like silver ribbons. I taped them carefully above his desk, smoothing each corner so they wouldn’t curl.
For once, the room smelled like vanilla and sugar instead of detergent and fresh linen.
I stepped back and looked at it.
It wasn’t much.
But it was everything I could give him.
He came in after his last tutor session, backpack still slung over one shoulder, eyes tired the way they always got after concentrating too long.
He stopped in the doorway.
His gaze moved slowly across the room, landing on the cake.
“Is that… for me?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, forcing brightness into my voice. “Happy birthday, Eli.”
He walked closer like he was approaching something fragile. He reached out and touched the icing with the tip of his finger, pulling it back quickly like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
“It’s a Shinkansen,” he said quietly.
“Thought you’d like that.”
He nodded slowly. Looked at me.
Not smiling. Just… soft.
“Thanks.”
We sat at the small table together. I handed him a plastic knife. He turned it over in his hand like he was thinking.
“No candles?” I asked gently.
He shrugged. “Fourteen feels too old for candles.”
“Fair enough.”
He cut the first slice himself. Slow and precise, like he didn’t want to ruin the design. He ate carefully, chewing like he was trying to stretch the moment.
He started talking about a new rail route his geography tutor showed him. Something about maglev systems and how Japan was testing faster lines. His voice picked up, getting animated in that quiet, passionate way he had when trains came up.
I laughed when he started explaining speed ratios using the edge of his fork like a pointer.
For twenty minutes, it almost felt normal.
Then he set his fork down.
“It’s not the same without Zariah.”
The words settled heavy between us.
My chest tightened. “I know.”
“She would’ve brought pizza,” he said.
“She definitely would’ve.”
“And she would’ve sang off-key.”
I smiled faintly. “Very off-key.”
He stared at the cake for a long moment.
“I miss our old place,” he said quietly. “The table was wobbly… but it was ours.”
My throat burned. “I miss it too.”
Silence stretched.
Later, he asked the question I had been avoiding since we moved into Cal’s house.
“Why doesn’t he ever talk to me? He’s literally in the same house.”
My hand froze halfway to my mouth.
“He’s… busy,” I said carefully. “With work. The band.”
Eli looked at me with an expression far too sharp for fourteen.
“He talks to Syd. And the other girls. He laughs with them. He’s not busy.”
I swallowed.
“It’s not you,” I said softly. “He just… struggles with people sometimes.”
“It feels like it is.”
The honesty in his voice cracked something inside me.
He stood up quietly, grabbed his tablet, and climbed onto his bed. Headphones slid over his ears. A train documentary started playing loudly enough that I knew he didn’t want to talk anymore.
I cleaned up alone.
I carried the leftover cake into the kitchen, wrapping it in foil, staring at the uneven frosting smear where Eli had cut the slice. I felt stupid for thinking sugar and icing could glue broken things together.
.....
Cal didn’t come home until after midnight.
I was wiping crumbs from the hallway console table when I heard the front door swing open.
Laughter floated in first. A girl’s voice, high, tipsy, careless.
Then Cal’s lower murmur.
They stumbled into the foyer together. She was tall, red hair cascading over her bare shoulders, short dress barely covering her thighs. Hanging off his arm like she belonged there.
She glanced toward the kitchen. Saw the cake on the counter. The crumpled wrapping paper. The single candle I’d stuck into one slice even though Eli said he didn’t want candles.
“Oh,” she said, blinking slowly. “Is it someone’s birthday?”
Cal followed her gaze. Shrugged.
“Yeah. The teen’s. Whatever.”
Whatever.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t ask how it went.
Didn’t even pause.
He just kept walking toward the stairs while she giggled against his shoulder.
Something inside my chest collapsed inward so quietly I wasn’t sure if it was breaking or simply disappearing.
I waited until their footsteps faded before I moved.
I went back to my room. Shut the door gently. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried so silently my ribs ached from holding the sound in. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt and kept telling myself it was hormones.
It wasn’t.
It mattered.
.....
I saw Cal again the next morning in the kitchen.
He was pouring coffee, sunglasses still on like he hadn’t bothered to face daylight yet.
I stood by the fridge, gripping the door handle harder than necessary.
“You forgot Eli’s birthday,” I said.
He didn’t look at me immediately. Just stirred his coffee slowly.
“I didn’t forget,” he said flatly.
“You didn’t show up.”
He finally glanced at me. “Hadley, I had meetings. Studio calls. I came home late.”
“You came home with someone.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not your concern.”
“It is when my foster brother is asking why you ignore him while living in the same house.”
“He’s not my responsibility.”
The bluntness of it hit like cold water.
“I know he’s not,” I said quietly. “And he doesn’t need you to be. But basic decency isn’t fatherhood. It’s just being human.”
He scoffed softly. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”
“He waited,” I said. “He asked if you were coming.”
Cal ran a hand through his hair. Frustration flickering across his face.
“I don’t do birthdays, Hadley. I barely do my own.”
“He’s a kid, Cal.”
“He’s fourteen.”
“He’s still a kid.”
He exhaled sharply. “I didn’t sign up to play house. I’m already dealing with enough.”
The words sliced deeper than he probably realized.
“I’m not asking you to play house,” I said. “I’m asking you not to make him feel invisible.”
Silence hung heavy.
Finally, he muttered, “I’ll… say something to him later.”
I nodded slowly.
“You don’t owe him anything,” I added. “But you don’t get to hurt him just because he exists in your space.”
He didn’t answer.
.....
Sydney showed up that night.
I was washing dishes when she walked in wearing Cal’s hoodie again, bare legs, messy hair like she had just climbed out of his bed.
She saw the foil-covered cake slice on the counter and smirked.
“Aw. The teenager didn’t get a present? That’s rough.”
I kept scrubbing the plate.
“Cal’s never been good with kids,” she continued casually. “Or birthdays. Or commitment. You’ll learn.”
I set the plate down harder than I meant to.
“He’s fourteen,” I said. “He deserved acknowledgment. That’s all.”
She leaned against the island, folding her arms.
“You act like Cal owes you both something,” she said. “He doesn’t.”
“I never said he did.”
“You’re living in his house. Carrying his kid. That usually comes with expectations.”
“I expect respect,” I said, turning to face her. “That’s not the same thing.”
She laughed softly. “You’re temporary, Hadley. Don’t build your identity around a man who replaces women like tour setlists.”
My fingers curled into my palm.
“Get out,” I said.
“This is my house too,” she replied sweetly.
She left, hips swaying like she’d won something.
I stood at the sink until the water turned cold around my hands.
......
Kei showed up the next afternoon.
He knocked gently on my door holding a small box wrapped in plain brown paper.
“For Eli,” he said. “Model train set. Thought he’d like it.”
I blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to....”
“I know.”
I called Eli downstairs. He opened the box carefully, eyes lighting up when he saw the sleek black locomotive and tiny interlocking rails.
“Thanks,” Eli said quietly.
Kei smiled and ruffled his hair gently. “Happy late birthday.”
Eli hesitated, then said, “You remembered.”
“Yeah,” Kei said simply. “I did.”
Eli carried the box upstairs, already examining the pieces.
The silence he left behind felt heavy.
Kei followed me to the patio. We sat on the outdoor couch, the ocean breeze carrying salt and warmth across the yard.
“I heard about yesterday,” he said.
I stared at the pool water shimmering under the sun. “He didn’t even say happy birthday.”
Kei rested his elbows on his knees. “Cal’s… emotionally stunted.”
“That’s a polite way to say he’s selfish.”
He didn’t argue.
“I’m not asking Cal to be anything to Eli,” I continued. “Eli is my foster brother. Cal doesn’t owe him fatherhood. He doesn’t owe him gifts or guidance or anything like that. But ignoring him like he’s furniture? That hurts him for no reason.”
“You’re right,” Kei said quietly.
I exhaled shakily. “Eli asked why Cal talks to everyone else but him. I didn’t know what to say.”
Kei stared out toward the water. “Cal struggles with emotional attachment. When he feels pressure, he avoids.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No,” he admitted. “It doesn’t.”
Silence stretched between us.
“I’m trying so hard to keep Eli stable,” I whispered. “The tutors. The routines. The little things. I just… I don’t want him to feel like he’s back in foster care again.”
Kei turned to look at me fully. “You’re doing an incredible job, Hadley. You’ve built consistency for him in a place that’s anything but consistent.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. “I’m tired, Kei.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how long I can keep living like this. The girls. The noise. Sydney walking around like she owns the air I breathe. Cal acting like I’m… temporary.”
“You’re not temporary,” Kei said firmly.
I laughed weakly. “Feels like it.”
“You’re stronger than you think.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“You don’t have to feel strong to be strong.”
I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“Sometimes I think about leaving,” I admitted. “Packing Eli up and just disappearing.”
Kei was quiet for a long moment.
“If you ever decide that,” he said slowly, “you won’t be alone figuring it out.”
I looked at him, surprised.
“I’m not saying run,” he clarified. “I’m saying… you deserve options.”
The wind rustled the palm leaves above us.
“I just want Eli to feel safe,” I whispered.
“He does,” Kei said. “Because of you.”
---
That night, I lay in bed with my hand resting over my growing bump.
Eli’s new train model sat on the nightstand beside me, the tiny locomotive gleaming under the lamplight. He had insisted on showing me every piece before going to sleep, excitement flickering in his eyes in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I whispered softly to the baby inside me.
“I won’t let you grow up thinking chaos is normal. I won’t let Eli believe this is what family is supposed to look like.”
My fingers traced small circles over my stomach.
“I have to find a way out… eventually.”
The room stayed silent.
No answers.
No plan.
No savings.
Just the slow, steady thump of life growing inside me… and the weight of two boys depending on me in a house that felt like it was closing in around us.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Every single day.