What She Left Behind ✔️

chapter three

A/N: Song for the chapter—"Let Me Be Sad" by I Prevail, my all-time favorite band.

"Well, today was interesting." My mom pours boiling water into my mug, drops in a teabag, and then takes a seat at the kitchen table. "Before things got... out of hand, we heard some nice stories about Raelyn."

"You mean before Bowie stormed out like a psychopath?" I reply, dunking the teabag a couple times before taking a sip. It burns the roof of my mouth, but it's a nice distraction from the rage burning inside me. "I cannot believe he walked out like that."

"People handle grief differently, sweetheart," my mom says.

"What does he have to grieve over? He barely knew her." I try to recall an instance in which Raelyn and Bowie were alone. I can't think of a single one.

There's a knock at the front door. Since I technically no longer live here, I don't move to answer it. My mom looks at me, rolls her eyes, and then exits the kitchen.

As I drink my scalding tea, I think about what Levi said. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am being too hard on Raelyn. After sixteen years of friendship, though, I feel like she should have come to me. We haven't been as close in recent years, but I would have helped her. I would have talked her off the proverbial ledge. What she did was selfish. She had options.

She had me.

My mom returns. Behind her is a silver-haired man with a leather briefcase. He's wearing a pinstripe suit, a skinny black tie, and shoes that likely cost more than my rent. He shoots me a counterfeit smile. I'm not sure how to react.

"Hello," he greets me. "My name is Phillip Woodworth. I'm an attorney for Woodworth & Son."

"Um, am I in some sort of trouble?" I ask, thinking about the parking ticket I received last month that I still haven't paid.

"No, not at all," he assures me. "I'm actually the executor of Raelyn Porter's will. She hired me before she died."

"Did Raelyn leave her money or something?" my mom questions.

"Well, yes," he answers. "She left you about three thousand dollars."

"Wow," I murmur, unaware that Raelyn, who couldn't hold down a job for more than six months, had that kind of cash.

"However," he goes on, "she also left you something else." He opens his briefcase and passes me a stack of papers. "In her will, Raelyn named you the sole guardian of her daughter, Evangeline."

My jaw hits the floor. "I... she... what?"

"I'm assuming she didn't talk to you about this beforehand?"

"No, she didn't."

"This is a huge responsibility, Ms. Beaufort," he says. "You're not obligated to take it on."

"What will happen to Evangeline if she doesn't?" my mom inquires.

"Well, she'll become a ward of that state," he responds. "She'll go into foster care unless someone else fights for custody."

"Which no one will," my mom says, "because she had no family to speak of."

I turn to my mom. "So you think I should do it? You think I should take custody of a six year old I barely know?"

"She's your best friend's daughter, Gemma. You must have some sort of bond with her."

But I don't, I realize. Raelyn and I were inseparable until she got pregnant. That was when we started to drift apart. I've only met Evangeline a handful of times. She didn't even look at me at the funeral.

"You don't have to make a decision right away," Phillip says. "You have some time to think it over."

"And in the meantime, what will happen to Evangeline?" my mom asks, placing her hands on her hips.

"Well, she's been in a group home for the past few days. I suppose she'll just stay there," he replies.

She shakes her head, obviously not satisfied with his answer. "Nuh-uh. Evangeline can stay with my husband and me until we sort this mess out."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, that isn't how it works," he says with a nervous chuckle. "It might be possible if you were a licensed foster parent, but—"

"As a matter of fact, I am." My mom reaches into her purse, locates her wallet, and then pulls out a folded-up certificate. "My husband and I got our licenses six months ago."

I blink. "You did?"

"Your dad and I are still young, Gemma. With you and Benson out of the house and Bowie halfway out the door, we didn't want to be empty nesters," she informs me.

"Well, I... I am just an attorney," Phillip says. "You'll have to talk to the social worker responsible for Evangeline's case."

My mom flashes a smug grin. "Fortunately, I got Waverly's phone number at the funeral."

I look at my mom, then at Phillip, then at my mom again. This is all too weird. My mom wants to take in Raelyn's daughter, and, apparently, she has the accreditations to do so. That would make Evangeline my foster sister.

The strangest part, though, is that Raelyn wanted me, of all people, to be responsible for her daughter. I can't even remember the last time we had a genuine conversation. Was there really no one else she entrusted Evangeline with?

"I need to call Levi," I announce, and then race upstairs to my childhood bedroom.

It's still the same. I moved out a year ago, but my parents haven't touched it. I immediately regret coming up here, because now all I can see is Raelyn. She's lounging on my bed with a magazine, rummaging through my closet in search of something to borrow, finishing her homework at my desk, lying on the floor in a fit of giggles, covering her mouth to mask the teeth she thought were too crooked. She never smiled with her mouth open. God damn it, why was she so self-conscious?

Tears sting my eyes as I flop onto my old bed. I hate her. I hate her for what she did, for the decision she's forcing me to make now, for never seeing what I and everyone else saw in her.

Sniffling, I reach into my pocket and grab my phone. Levi answers on the first ring. Before he can even say hello, I blurt out, "I know you're still mad about earlier, but something insane just happened, and I really need your advice."

He's quiet for a moment. Finally, he says, "Where are you?"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Um, at my parent's house. Why?"

"Be there in ten," he replies, and then hangs up the phone.