The Gallagher house looks exactly like Carl said it would: like a half-finished argument with drywall. The porch sags just enough to make your steps uncertain, and the screen door has a shriek to it that could summon the dead. Carl holds it open for you anyway, grinning like he just brought home a winning lottery ticket, his hand wrapped tight around yours.

Inside, the smell hits first—fried something, wet socks, baby wipes—and then the sound. The clatter of dishes. A baby wailing somewhere deeper in the house. Laughter that borders on shouting. It’s loud, alive, a mess of barely managed energy.

"Yo!" Carl announces, shoulders back with exaggerated confidence. “Brought someone special.”

Six heads turn in unison, and for a split second, there’s actual silence. Fiona stands in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up and a beer in one hand, eyes blinking like she’s seeing things. Lip, sprawled on the couch with a book open but ignored in his lap, leans forward with a slow smirk curling at his mouth. Ian is halfway through changing Liam’s shirt and stops mid-button. Debbie appears from the hallway with Franny on her hip, bouncing the fussy toddler, while Frank—oh, Frank—sits at the dining table with an empty glass and a suspiciously bright smile already forming.

“What the actual hell,” Fiona says under her breath, but loud enough to hear. “Carl?”

“Who is she?” Debbie blurts, eyes squinting like she’s trying to solve a crime scene. “Did you kidnap her?”

“I didn’t kidnap her,” Carl mutters. “Jesus, can we not start with that every time?”

“You sure?” Lip tosses in, standing now, circling you like you’re an art exhibit. “Because she looks like she has health insurance.”

You give a polite laugh, tightening your hold on Carl’s arm. “Hi,” you offer, ever so sweetly, like you haven’t just been dropped into a family of semi-feral wolves.

Ian raises a brow. “She blinked twice. That means she needs help, right?”

Franny wails, throwing her stuffed toy at the floor. Debbie gives her a bounce and mutters something about nap schedules, and Liam silently walks over to you and holds out a crayon drawing, like a peace offering. You crouch to accept it with a warm smile.

“Okay,” Fiona says, slapping a hand against the counter. “Somebody tell me what’s going on. Carl? You brought home a literal angel. Are you dying? Is this your Make-A-Wish?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Carl says proudly, chin raised.

Frank squints. “Girlfriend, huh?” He leans back in his chair, one eye narrowing with suspicion. “Or is she here ‘cause you knocked her up?”

You choke on a laugh, Carl groans, and Fiona practically launches a dish towel at Frank’s head.

“I am not pregnant,” you say, still smiling somehow.

“Yet,” Frank says, winking, and earns another towel to the face.

Carl tugs you toward the couch. “Ignore him. He’s been dropped on his head—repeatedly. Everyone else, I told you she’s real.”

Ian tilts his head. “Where’d you two meet?”

“We’re not doing the origin story,” Carl says quickly, too quickly.

“Because it’s fake?” Lip needles.

“No,” Carl snaps, “because it’s none of your business and I’m trying not to scare her off.”

You laugh again, genuinely this time, and sink onto the battered couch, Carl flopping down beside you. Franny toddles over and grabs at your leg, and you lean down to pick her up, like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

“Okay,” Fiona says, arms crossed but a grin twitching at her mouth. “You’re either a hallucination, or a miracle. And either way, welcome to the family.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” you joke.

“It is,” Ian says.