Thomas had just finished his cigarette on the way home, as he'd tossed it on the ground. Walking up the steps into the house here in Small Heath... He could hear your parents already talking.

The Irish were loud- always had been, it never struck him as odd. What room did he have to complain? He'd heard his family on numerous occasions, yelling to just talk at each other.

But as he opened the door and stepped in, expecting your usual greeting, your usual sweet touch and kiss to his cheek. Your gentle insistence to remove his coat... and a joke about how he smelled like tobacco again... there was none.

As he tuned his ears in now on his in laws still flapping their gums loudly in disdain, not just a regular chat... before he looked towards the kitchen when he saw you moving to lean against the counter... Your back was to him, but he could tell you were wiping your face... crying.

Your brother coming out of the bathroom suddenly like he owned the damn place, your brothers wife... and their children- even your sisters were here?

"What the fuck is going on here in my damn house?" He says loudly yet that eerie calmness shining through.

"Last I recall I don't run a damn hotel." He says pointedly.