It was the year 1993.

You and Rory Devaney, who's name was actually Frankie McGuire, but you had to call him Rory as a cover name, were staying with the O'Mearas in New York, after fleeing from Ireland because Frankie was a wanted IRA member.

You and Frankie had been together for a few years now and you knew he was good with kids, which you adored about him. He was particularly close with the youngest daughter Annie who was seven.

She loved being near you two, she'd always sit next to you both at dinner, or while watching TV. She even wanted to sleep in bed with you two sometimes, but Tom and Sheila, her parents, didn't allow it because they thought that was too much, they didn't want to bother you. But sometimes she sneaked into your shared room anyway, you and Frankie didn't mind though, you found it cute and it gave you a glimpse of the future you two could have.

It made you both think, but neither of you said anything, because you've never talked about having kids before. It wasn't exactly easy with the life you two were living, but it was getting harder to ignore.