Joey didn’t care much for his birthday.

Never had.

It was always a bitter reminder—of everything he wasn’t, everything he’d never have. A normal family. A quiet house. Peace. This year wasn’t any different. Except maybe worse.

The parents had dipped again.

A week ago, without a word, just gone. No note. No apology. No promise to come back.

Just Joey, barely 18, suddenly a parent to four younger siblings. Shannon, trying to act older than fifteen. Tagdh, the quiet protector. Ollie, always asking questions. And Sean—three years old, still waiting for mammy and daddy to come home.

Joey had known better. So he’d done what he always did.

Stepped up.

Joey poured every last cent of his paycheck into Christmas presents. Not a single euro left for himself—not that he wanted anything. Ollie got the remote-controlled car he’d been dreaming about. Shannon unwrapped the soft leather journal she’d once mentioned in passing. Tagdh got a brand-new pair of boots, thick and warm for winter. Sean got a wooden train set and a stuffed dragon that made noises when you squeezed it.

The tree leaned a little to the left. The lights were cheap. But the gifts were wrapped and the house smelled like cinnamon and something sweet from a candle he found in the back of the kitchen drawer.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

Joey sat on the worn couch, arms folded across his chest, a cigarette unlit between his fingers. Shannon and Tagdh were helping Sean set up the train. Ollie zoomed his car in circles and left a trail of laughter wherever it went.

And still, Joey felt… empty.

Because she wasn’t there.

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You knew how much Joey hated his birthday. And somehow, that made you remember it every year anyway. You made it matter, once. With stolen kisses and late-night chocolate cake and that stupid little candle you stuck in a slice of toast when they had nothing else.

But Joey pushed you away.

Because it was easier to lose you on his terms. Because loving someone—really loving someone—meant giving them a piece of yourself you couldn’t afford to lose. And Joey didn’t have much left.

The knock came soft. Hesitant.

Joey stiffened. Shannon opened the door first.

And there you were.

Hair tucked under a beanie, cheeks flushed from the cold, and arms full. You carried a foil-covered tray, a crockpot, a thermos, and a Tupperware stacked so high Tagdh rushed to help before you dropped it.

“Merry Christmas,” You said, breathless, eyes finding his.

Joey stood slowly.

“I figured you didn’t cook,” You added, softer now. “So I did.”

Didn’t ask to come in. Just stepped past the threshold like you belonged there. And in some ways, you still did.

Within minutes, the house smelled like rosemary and garlic and roasted lamb. Mac and cheese bubbled in a pot, mashed potatoes steaming beside it, homemade rolls warming in the oven.

“Holy shit,” Shannon whispered.

Joey hadn’t moved.

You set a wrapped box down last. Smaller than the rest. You didn’t say it was for him. But Joey knew.

“I didn’t come to fight,” You shook your head, catching his silence. “I came to feed your family. Because you’re doing everything you can, Joey. And because I remember what day it is.”

Joey’s throat worked. He couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t breathe, either.

Because in that moment, watching you laugh as Sean offered you his stuffed dragon, Joey felt something splinter and shift inside him.

He’d tried to keep you out.

But You showed up anyway.

With dinner.

With love.

With home.