A/N: Well… probably the longest hiatus that I've ever come back to. I can't sincerely apologize enough for abandoning this story so close to the end. I've just recently picked back up on writing, and upon rereading this story… I felt an urge to finish it, almost 10 years later. It's no masterpiece, but I wanted to wrap it up. If there is still anyone who follows this story… cheers, and thank you.

Helga's new apartment was practically a shoebox. Secretly grateful for her lack of personal belongings and memorabilia, she was able to make the tiny studio "home" with little to no flourish. But her mind brought plenty of baggage. Phoebe, Arnold, her family… this place held weight. But she was here for a reason, and she was determined not to run away again.

Her first few weeks in town were uneventful. Her new neighbors were somehow worse than the last; college kids, they played loud music until the wee hours of the morning and somehow fit what sounded like crowds of people into a 800 square foot studio.

Despite the noise, the loneliness gave her plenty of time to begin writing a sequel to her most recent novel. She found that with the more stress that burdened her, the easier it was for words to flow out of her like water from a hose.

She visited Phoebe from time to time, surprised by how much bigger she got by the week. Sometimes Gerald was there, but rarely did he join in conversation. Helga preferred to be alone with her friend anyway, listening to her chipper voice as she talked baby names, the nursery, potential sex of the baby, etcetera. All things that Helga had no experience in, but enjoyed listening to Phoebe ramble about.

Helga had always been so wrapped up in her own drama, that sitting back and allowing someone else to take up space was eye-opening and somehow… humbling.

"Have you reached out to Arnold?" Phoebe asked one afternoon, standing with some difficulty as she gathered coffee cups from the kitchen table. Helga jumped up, stealing the silverware from her friend and beckoning her to sit once more.

"No, actually, I haven't." Her courage was shot. Confidence at an all-time low. She missed the boat, after he sent her that letter, so what was the point?

"I bet he'd be willing to hear you out, you know," Phoebe said omnisciently.

"I'm not so sure I deserve that. Not yet," Helga replied simply, dumping the coffee cups into the sink and running the tap.

"Why do you say that?" Phoebe asked, although Helga was entirely sure she knew the answer to her pointed question.

"You were right, Pheebs. About everything," Helga began, scrubbing vigorously at a dish. "I created these problems. I let them take control of me. I'm not quite sure I'm able to let them go yet, though."

Phoebe made a small 'hmm' sound. Lacing her fingers atop her bulging belly, she said softly, "What will help?"

"I think…" Helga drifted off for a moment, hand-drying a mug with an old towel. "I think I need to address some other things first."

She tried calling. They couldn't say she didn't. The home phone, their cell phones… she tried to get in touch with her family, but it was futile. Had they changed their numbers? Or, were they just finally done with their second-place daughter, ready to sweep her under the carpet like so many other family secrets?

It wasn't until she had been back in Hilwood for several months that her phone rang. She stared at the caller ID. It was her mom's cell.

"Miriam?" she answered, shocked to finally see the number pop up.

"It's Bob," came a stern, unfriendly voice. Not your father, just Bob. As if he was in the room, she straightened her back out of habit.

"What is it?"

"Miriam is in the hospital. The one off of 64th street. She's ok… I just figured you should know."

A pit formed in Helga's throat.

"Hospital? What? Why?"

"Off of 64th street, if you're in town."

The line went dead. The fact that he said Miriam was okay allowed the pit to dissolve, but something else replaced it. Anger.

White-knuckled, she drove to the hospital, a million scenarios dancing through her mind as she hit every red light. But something in the back of her mind told her she knew the root cause.

Parking like an asshole, she power-walked towards the front desk, barking at the nurse. "Helga, here to see Mirima Patacki."

"I'm sorry, only family is allowed for visitation at this hour," the nurse responded in a dull tone, not taking her eyes off the old computer monitor in front of her. "You can come back tomorrow, 10 AM to noon is usually-"

"I am family," she all but shouted, gripping the plastic counter. "Does your little computer tell you that?"

The nurse peered at a chart, scanning the notes with her finger. "You aren't on the list. Can you provide some sort of identification, or…?"

Helga snorted, whipping out her wallet and prying her ID from the clear, plastic window. "See? Helga G. Patacki. I'm her daughter."

The nurse was far from amused. She grasped the ID, stared at it hard, and finally stood from her creaking rolly chair. "Follow me."

The sterile halls of the hospital smelled of rubbing alcohol and some awful cleaner that attempted to mask the smell of death and decay with a citrus aroma. Helga's anticipation grew with every step, until she was finally led into her mother's room. The nurse did not bid her farewell as she dropped her off.

"Miriam," Helga breathed, staring incredulously at the hospital bed. Her mother had several visible injuries - bruises along her neck and face, what appeared to be a broken arm, and a wrap around her ankle that indicated a sprain. "What happened?"

No one spoke. It took a moment for Helga to realize that her older sister and her douchey boyfriend were in the room as well as Bob. Cloudy, black tears dripped from Olga's eyes.

"There was… a car accident," Olga finally said, her voice quivering. "Thank God mom is okay."

"A car accident?" Helga asked, staring at her mother once more. Her eyes were half-lidded, almost unaware that anyone was in the room. It dawned on her. "And what caused this… accident?"

The room was silent once more, only further proving Helga's theory. She exhaled a sharp breath, looking from one family member to the next.

"Finally found the bottom of the gin bottle, huh, Miriam?" she asked, no holds barred. Collectively, her family reacted. Olga buried her face in her hands, Malcolm shot Helga a dirty glare as he rubbed Olga's arm in reassurance, and Bob grunted. No one contradicted her.

Helga shook her head in disbelief, staring at the dull linoleum at her feet. She almost wanted to laugh.

"The lengths you people will go through..." she muttered, hardly above a whisper.

"Helga, don't," Olga pleaded, her mouth in a crumpled line.

"Don't what? Hold this family responsible for their actions?" she asked incredulously, wildly gesturing around to the lot of them with her bony arms.

"Listen, young lady," Bob began in a stern tone. "Your mother-"

"Is a drunk!" Helga exclaimed. Pointing at her father, she continued, "And you! You just enable her, don't you? Pretending like you don't notice, pretending like you don't care?"

Olga made a gurgling noise as she cried into Malcolm's sweater.

"I have spent most of my life trying to figure out how to fit in with this family," she seethed. "How to get you guys to love me, to call me, to care about what I'm doing… but I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of being disappointed. I don't want it anymore."

She threw her hands into the air. "I don't want to be part of this. This bullshit, make-believe family where we just cover up each other's awful secrets and hope that everything just goes away. I'm done."

And she turned on one foot, exiting the room and slamming the door shut with emphasis. Helga wandered the opposite way she came, knowing that tears were threatening to fall and not wanting to be in the hospital waiting room when they did. She turned a corner and slumped against the wall, burying her face in her hands.

Quaking sobs shook her entire frame as she attempted to quiet herself. She barely noticed the footsteps approaching her until a voice that she hadn't heard in so long brought her back to reality.

"Helga?"

Arnold was gathering his things to leave the office when he received the call. Without thinking, he flipped his phone open and answered.

"Hello?"

"Arnold, it's happening."

He didn't need to hear anymore. "I'll be right there!"

He shoved his cell phone into his pocket and jogged towards the elevator, his heart pumping faster than it had in months. He knew that Phoebe and Gerald had chosen the hospital off 64th St, and for weeks he had been mapping out the quickest route to get there once the baby was arriving. He whipped around each corner, finally finding himself in the visitor's parking lot.

Breaking into a sprint, he approached the front desk.

"Phoebe and Gerald Johanssen?" he asked, attempting to catch his breath. "I'm a good friend. Arnold."

The nurse glanced down at her chart and looked back up at him dully, pointing to the right of the desk. "Room 318. Make sure to knock first."

He approached the door, already plagued with frantic noises coming from within. Although, it sounded more like Gerald than Phoebe. He rapped his knuckles on the door. Gerald spotted him through the window and beckoned him inside. Phoebe, her stomach the size of a basketball, was lying on the bed, her slender fingers laced on top of her bump.

"Arnold," she said pleasantly, waving to her friend. He waved back meekly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm fine." She rolled her eyes, pointing her thumb at Gerald. "He's having a meltdown, though."

Gerald was visibly sweating. Arnold approached his old friend, patting him on the back. "You ready for this?"

"Born ready," squeaked Gerald, looking slightly dizzy but happy nonetheless. "Bring it on."

"Could you please try and sound more enthusiastic?!" Phoebe yelped, laughing hysterically at her husband.

Arnold hung around in the room for almost an hour, until Phoebe actually began to have contractions. To give the couple privacy, he left the room and wandered the halls, knowing that it could be hours or even a full day before the baby was finally born. But he was determined to be there. The struggles his two friends had endured over their years of marriage was heartbreaking, but now the miracle of life was almost upon them.

After a few hours had passed, he found himself on another floor of the hospital, staring blankly at a vending machine. Slipping a few quarters into the machine, he chose a Snickers bar, which dropped with a thunk to the bottom of the metal case.

Peeling off the wrapper, he noticed the front-desk was empty. Taking a few bites, he wandered down another hallway, hearing a stifled noise from around the corner.

He was sure that his eyes had deceived him. Assuming he'd never see her again, his mouth dropped as he stared down at Helga Patacki, who was crumpled on the floor with tears freely falling down her face.

"Helga?" he asked, almost dropping his candy bar.

She stared up at him, red-rimmed eyes widening as she saw who it was. "What, uh…" she wiped her face, "What are you doing here?"

"Phoebe and Gerald are having their baby," Arnold responded awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. Helga grasped her phone from her pocket, flipping it open.

"Shit," she exclaimed, staring at her call log. "I missed her call."

"It's fine, the baby isn't here yet," he attempted to reassure her. She was silent, still wiping her face with the long sleeve of her shirt. "What are you, uh…?"

"Miriam," she said blankly, staring down at her hands. "Er, I mean, my mom."

"Is she okay?" Arnold asked, taking a step towards her small body on the ground.

"Yes and no," Helga explained. She seemed to still be fighting the tears that gathered in her lids. Arnold took a step forward before sitting down on the ground next to her. His criss-cross legs gently brushed hers.

"You don't have to talk about it."

They sat in a comfortable silence as Helga sniffled and wiped at her puffy eyes. She opened and closed her mouth several times, as if wanting to explain herself but not sure where to start. Finally, she spoke.

"I'm sorry," she confessed, catching him off guard. "For some reason, I think I felt like I had to blame you for all the bad things that happened after high school. I know that's a bullshit excuse."

"Kinda," he agreed.

"It's not you. You didn't do anything wrong." She stared blankly ahead at the opposite white wall. "I've just been carrying a lot of shit."

"I get it," he assured her. "Everyone has shit."

"Yeah?" she asked, turning towards him inquisitively. "Tell me your shit, Arnold. I should probably shut up for once."

He sighed, surprised at his sudden openness as he explained: "I wish it was more interesting than it is. I fell in love with a girl, we moved in together, and everything fell apart."

"How so?"

"She just… changed. And I changed too, I guess. I can't blame everything on her," he confessed. "It was like we were strangers who spoke different languages. No reason to stay together except for this obligation that because we were together for so long, we needed to continue that forever."

Helga nodded, despite not being able to empathize fully.

"But when we broke up, it was like… this void, you know? Not because I missed her. But because I realized I hadn't been alone in so long." He stopped for a moment and stared back at Helga, almost wanting to physically stop himself from speaking any more. "I'm sorry, that was just…"

"No, no," she reassured him this time. "Don't be sorry. That's… real. I'm sorry I never asked."

"Why would you?" he asked, a slight edge to his tone. "We haven't been in each other's lives for a very long time."

"I've been running away for most of that time," she admitted, cradling her head in her hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok." And it was. The craziness he had felt since she re-entered his life was finally beginning to feel pieced together.

"My mom is in there." She pointed to the room directly behind them. "I don't even know if she'll remember that I visited. She got in a drunk driving accident. She's fine, but… I'm not. I'm not fine."

Tears again slipped silently down her face. Boldly, he reached for her hand and grasped it in his.

"It's like I've always thought that maybe one day, my family would be normal. Maybe if I could get published, they'd praise me like my sister. If I could actually sell 10,000 copies, I'd be invited back home for Christmas. All of these milestones I've had… I just wanted them to notice me."

"And that never happened," he concluded.

"No. And it never will." Helga heaved a heavy sigh, still gripping his hand in hers but not looking at him. "In every other aspect of my life, I've just tried to force myself to fit in. So I could just say fuck them and not care. And every time that didn't work, I… got angry."

Arnold squeezed her hand gently. "It's ok."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness, you know," she said quietly.

"You don't get to decide that, you know."

Miles Arnold Johanssen. He was born just hours after Phoebe and Gerald had arrived, with ten little fingers and ten little toes. He was perfectly healthy at 7.4 oz and 20 inches long.

Arnold's eyes leaked freely as he held him. He gently bounced the child up and down, only because he had seen new parents do that before. In reality, he had never really been around a baby in his adult life, but his heart swelled when Miles looked at him.

The new parents were exhausted; Gerald was half asleep in a chair next to the hospital bed, his arm outstretched and hand laced with his wife's. Phoebe smiled even as she rested, her free hand resting on her stomach proudly.

Helga stood in the doorway, the weight of her family's presence in that same hospital slowly eating away at her. She mustered happiness for Phoebe and Gerald, but she couldn't help but feel like an intruder in this blissful moment. A room full of old friends, but Arnold's words from earlier rang true: she was never really around to celebrate these milestones with them.

With a sad smile, she turned to leave, hoping to not be noticed as she slipped away.

"Helga, where are you going?" a small but mighty voice called out to her.

She swirled around and stared into Phoebe's tired eyes. "I should probably go, you need to rest-"

"Don't be ridiculous. You're the godmother - you're family. Get in here - Miles needs an introduction."

With a surprised smile, she allowed herself to fully step into the room as Arnold passed the cooing infant into her arms. She stared in awe at the beautiful baby her friends created. His red, squishy face looked up at her in wonder, and she felt breath flutter in her chest.

Maybe she belonged somewhere after all.

"Happy birthday dear Miiiles," came the raucous birthday chant. "Happy birthday to you!"

Phoebe lifted the one-year old to a tiny cupcake, gently blowing out the candle for him. Gerald, Arnold, and Helga cheered, causing the chubby infant to smile and kick his legs with excitement.

It was a blustery Saturday afternoon when the four friends gathered around Phoebe and Gerald's kitchen table. Helga could barely believe that a whole year had passed since Miles entered their lives. A whole year since her and Arnold finally reconciled. A full year since Miriam got in that accident.

Things continued to piece together at a slow pace. Like a child, she had to stick one toe into the water at a time before diving into the deep end.

Arnold approached her and threw an arm around her shoulder, kissing her cheek lightly. "I think Miles is almost old enough for a horsie ride."

Helga snorted. "A horsie ride?"

"My grandpa used to do those, ok?!" he laughed, squeezing her shoulder. "Every kid should experience a horsie ride."

Helga playfully swatted at him, smiling despite the ridiculousness of it all. "Whatever you say, Arnoldo."

"Really? Arnoldo? Do we need to revisit that nickname?" he asked with a sigh.

"That was one of the better ones, if I recall," Gerald piped up as he wiped his son's frosting-covered mouth with a cloth napkin. "Or do you want Football Head to come back?"

Arnold grimaced, turning to his fiancee with puppy dog eyes. "Please. I can't go back to Football Head."

"Arnoldo it is!" she smiled triumphantly. From her pocket, her cell rang noisily. "Sorry, one second."

Helga stepped away from the festivities, ducking into the nearby bathroom and pressing the phone to her face. "Hello?"

"Helga?" The frail voice of her mother. Her stomach somersaulted inside of her.

"Miriam?" she asked incredulously. She hadn't heard from anyone in her family since that afternoon in the hospital.

"I… I wanted to call you," she began, her voice shaking slightly. "I know it's been a while."

"Yeah, it's been a year." The physical evidence of that was in the other room.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm one year sober, today."

Helga's breath caught in her throat. Of all things that her mother could have called her about, that was the last thing she expected. "Wow."

"It's not much. But I thought you should know."

"No, it's… thank you. Thank you for calling me." She never thought she'd be the one to hear her own mother's milestones from the other line. Helga set aside the emotions that always bubbled up when she spoke to her family; she could only be proud at this moment.

"If you're still in town…"

"I am."

"Maybe you can come for dinner sometime?" her mother asked hopefully. For once, she sounded like she had clarity instead of a mouth full of marbles.

Helga was silent for a moment. It had been a year. She finally felt solid in herself, her relationships, her friendships… she had found where her errant puzzle piece fit in. She could cast away her built-up angst and have dinner with her mom. "I can do that. Can I invite my fiance?"

"Of course." She could hear the smile in Miriam's voice. "I'll call you."

Helga clasped her phone shut before shoving it back into her pocket and rejoining the celebration. Arnold gave her an inquisitive look. "Who was that?"

"It was my mom," she said plainly, still replaying the conversation in her mind. An unexpected tear dripped from her eye. "She wants us over for dinner."

Arnold was at her side in an instant, again wrapping her in his unwavering arms. Resting his chin on her head, he whispered, "Are you okay?"

"I…" she pulled away for a second, staring into his eyes and allowing herself to feel completely safe in that moment. "I am, actually."

And for the first time since childhood, she meant it.