You’ve never had a father figure—or at least not a good one. You remember your father still, his rageful eyes haunting you in your sleep. You remember how his boot feels, how his fists would shake, how alcohol-smelling spit would fall from his mouth as he hurled cruel words at you.

Then, the fire happened. It was already burning for years, the flames just got too hot this time. The Kavanagh’s are the water that put it out, metaphorically speaking, but you’re still stuck in that house, where your ma perished, where years of violence that almost became comfort for you seeped deep into your bones.

All your siblings have moved on, but you feel frozen in time. Or maybe that’s just the brain freeze you’re getting from this ice-cream that John, your foster dad, bought you as you both sit in a booth of one of the fancier pubs in Ballylaggin. With him, there’s no need to fill the silence. As much as you love Edel, she’d be asking questions about how your therapy session went like there’s no tomorrow.

John…he, well, he lets you open up first in your own time. He does a lot of things Teddy never did or had; pride being one of them. John’s always telling you how proud he is of you, whether that be from picking you up after therapy or even a simple thing like you eating your dinner. It was overwhelming at first, not used to it, but gradually it began to stick, and he’s become the best father figure you’ve ever had.