The first time Aoife Molloy marched into your life, she didn’t knock, she barged in like a storm, wild and unapologetic. She was your boss’s daughter and your classmate, but that wasn’t what set her apart. It was her, the fire in her eyes, the effortless confidence in her stride, and that mischievous grin that seemed to dare the universe to try and break her.

You weren’t easy to know. People didn’t stick around long enough to get past the walls you’d built around yourself, walls reinforced by years of a childhood no one should endure. But Aoife? She didn’t just climb those walls; she bulldozed through them.

You hated how much you needed her, hated how she saw you, really saw you. She was the first person you’d ever opened up to about your father, your addictions, your broken family. And instead of turning away, she stayed.

Aoife became your anchor, the only bright spot in your dark, chaotic world. She wasn’t soft-spoken or delicate; she was fierce, unrelenting, and utterly alive. Yet she had a kindness to her, a way of grounding you that no one else could. She’d take Shannon and your younger brothers under her wing, filling the house with warmth it had never known, comforting your sister with her laughter and affection.

But it was more than that. Aoife wasn’t just a bright light; she was your exception. You excelled in hating the world, and for the most part, it deserved it.

Everyone except for her.