IN SHORT
- Carol was incredibly close to her only biological son, Bailey, 18.
- When Bailey made a mysterious promise to make her proud, she had no idea what was to come.
- Just weeks later, a devastating tragedy changed her family forever.
- Now, she’s fighting for Bailey’s Law to honour her son’s legacy and protect other families.
- Here, Carol Micallef, 49, Jervis Bay, NSW, tells her story.
As I walked into my son Bailey’s room, I could tell something was on his mind.
“I just want you to know I’m going to make you proud one day, Mum,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
It was November 2022, and I had no idea what my 18-year-old was talking about.
“All I can tell you is I’m going to be known, it’s going to be huge, and it’s going to help people,” Bailey replied.
Curious, but sensing he didn’t want to say any more, I wished him goodnight and left.
I never doubted Bailey would make me proud.
He was my miracle baby, born after doctors told me I’d never have children, and my only biological child.
We were incredibly close.
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He had the kindest heart, a smile that lit up every room and a gift for making everyone feel welcome.
A talented rugby league player, Bailey loved spending time with his mates, but family always came first.
My husband, Lawrence, who’d helped raise Bailey since he was six, loved him like he did his own children, Adam, Chris and Lauren.
I’d always wrapped Bailey in cotton wool, but now he was an adult, I had to let him make his own decisions.
A month later, Bailey told me he was spending the afternoon with his cousin, Dominic, 20.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.
He was serving an intensive corrections order (ICO) on home detention for armed robbery.
Dominic had also started calling Bailey constantly, expecting him to drop everything to help.
“Mum, he needs me,” Bailey insisted. “He’s got no-one else.”
“Okay, son,” I sighed. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
I hated that Bailey felt responsible for Dominic, but he couldn’t turn his back on someone he loved.
The day Bailey went to Dominic’s house, I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.
I distracted myself by looking after my two-year-old granddaughter, Faith.
Later that night, Dominic’s older brother called.
“Auntie, Bailey’s been stabbed!” he cried.
“What do you mean?” I gasped. “Is he okay?”
He said he hadn’t been there, but Dominic claimed Bailey had fallen onto a knife and was in hospital.
Other friends at the house had called an ambulance, but said they hadn’t seen what happened.
I rang Lawrence and we raced to hospital. My stepchildren met us there.
“Where’s my son?” I asked.
Staff led us into a private room. Moments later, a doctor walked in.
“Bailey’s passed away,” he told us.
No, that can’t be true, I thought.
As Lawrence collapsed to the floor and my stepchildren burst into tears, I somehow stayed calm.
“Everyone, just breathe,” I said.
Then I slipped into the corridor, searching for Bailey. A security guard led Lawrence and me to a window outside his room.
When I saw my son lying motionless on a steel bed, the truth hit me.
“My baby!” I screamed, rushing towards him.
“Ma’am, it’s a crime scene,” the guard said. “You can’t touch him.”
Determined to keep my family together, I buried myself in planning Bailey’s funeral.
I’d worried about Bailey spending time with Dominic, but I never imagined my own nephew would kill my son.
Deep down, though, I knew he had to be responsible.
I told Dominic’s father he wasn’t welcome at Bailey’s funeral until we knew the truth.
Three weeks later, as we drove to the service, a detective called. “We’ve arrested the man we believe stabbed your son,” he said.
“It was my nephew, wasn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
Relief and anger washed over me. At least we finally had answers.
After the funeral, the grief became unbearable. Every time I walked into Bailey’s bedroom, I broke down.
“Why did you leave me?” I sobbed. “Take me with you.”
I developed depression, anxiety and PTSD.
Even a shadow in the street made me jump, and nightmares haunted me.
But I also needed answers.
I got CCTV footage showing Dominic wandering through shops, despite his ICO only allowing him to leave home briefly for a haircut.
I also found a social media photo he’d posted weeks earlier holding the same knife used to kill Bailey.
Determined to fight for justice, I contacted State Member for South Coast, Liza Butler.
She arranged a meeting with the head of NSW Corrective Services, who admitted compliance checks didn’t involve entering homes and were scheduled in advance.
I felt sick.
Dominic’s ICO also banned him from possessing firearms or using alcohol or illegal drugs.
Yet during his trial, police revealed a gun had been found at his home and Dominic admitted using multiple illegal drugs around the time Bailey was killed.
If those conditions had been properly enforced, I believe my son would still be alive.
Dominic was found not guilty of murder but guilty of the lesser charge of manslaughterNote, claiming Bailey pushed himself onto the knife.
I never believed him.
A listening device captured him admitting he had “f**ked up” and “flipped the switch”Note when Bailey annoyed him.
In April 2025, Dominic Saliba, 21, was sentenced to seven years and nine months in prison, becoming eligible for parole in July 2027.
I was devastated he wasn’t convicted of murder.
Since then, I’ve dedicated myself to campaigning for Bailey’s Law, calling for 10 reforms including random compliance checks, regular social media monitoring, electronic ankle bracelet enforced zones, and random drug and weapons searches.
Whenever it all feels too much, I think back to what Bailey told me that night.
He wanted to be known for something that would help people. We won’t stop fighting until that becomes his legacy.
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