Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PETE] Not Your Typical Mother's Day

The second Sunday in May used to be the day you dreaded the most. It's supposed to be a day of appreciation, for people everywhere to let their moms know that they love them and to say thanks for all the times they didn't. But for you? It was a day of painful remembrance, reminding you of the life you used to have and life you adapted to over the past four years.

Had things been different, had you not been pregnant when your life took a drastic turn for the worst, you wouldn't care about this day. It had no significance to you. You weren't a mom, not then at least. You were only three weeks in. But then it happened.

You were driving down the street on your way home one day when a police car pulled out from one of the side roads, speeding after you with their red and blue lights flashing. You rolled your eyes and obeyed his wordless command to pull over, shutting your car off and heaving a sigh, waiting for the officer to come and tell you why he came after you.

The officer asked if you knew what you had been pulled over for and you shook your head no, telling him you didn't. He then continued, asking if you'd been drinking or doing drugs. You told him no. He stood there for a little, sniffing once or twice, before asking you to get out of the vehicle. With hesitation, you followed his instructions. He began to search your car, and upon doing so, came across something your boyfriend, Pete, had hidden in your glove box. The officer made the quick assumption that it was yours and arrested you on the spot, the amount you possessed alarming.

You don't know how you lost your case, or how you ended up being sentenced to ten years in prison and Pete didn't, but it happened, and you've been counting down the days until you get out ever since.

This day, of all days, had proven to be the hardest for you. As mentioned before, you were three weeks pregnant when you were arrested. Being pregnant in jail was not easy. It was almost as if you had a target on your back, your fellow inmates jealous of the leniences you received. But sure enough, the nine months passed by and you gave birth to your son. And since you weren't able to raise him there, on your own, he was given to Pete, his father. Pete wasn't your first choice, nor did you really want him to take care of him, but you rather your son be with him than a stranger.

To say the least, your resentment towards the bassist of the band that was rapidly increasing in popularity has grown over the years. He's the reason that you're in the place you're in. He's the reason you don't get to see your son. And he's the reason you lost everything - your job, your family and friends, everything.

That's why you don't like this day, because of him.

*****

You're lying in your lame excuse for a bed when the metal bars that contain you in the small room you've resided in for the past for years slide to the side, Janelle, the guard you've grown close with over the years, stepping inside.

"Someone's here to see you, (Y/N)," She informs you.

You turn your head and exhale loudly, swinging your legs over the edge and jumping down from the top bunk you've claimed as yours. A blank expression marks your face as you hold your hands out for Janelle to handcuff you.

"Hey, cheer up," She suggests, pulling out the metal rings and securing them around your wrists, "I saw the two of them before coming up here and your son is really excited to see you."

Your eyes narrow and you follow her out of your room and down to the visitation area. The dismal room is relatively empty, since it's still early in the day, and sitting at one of the several tables are your boyfriend and your son.