joey remembers holding you for the first time.

you weighed seven pound, six ounces. aoife had been in labour for seven hours, and it had be generally easier — a lot easier than aj’s. and you had been perfect. he vividly remembers you blinking up at him, barely a few hours old, and your fingers had curled around his thumb.

you were a daddy’s girl, through and through. joey’s girl

at age four, you was joey’s twin. a mop of curly blonde hair and green eyes. chaos incarnate. just like him.

and as you grew up, it didn’t change, not even when your younger brother, ronan was born. you were close with your mam, too.

you were a ray of sunshine. you played football. you liked to help out in the garage. you were helpful and funny and a little bit of a troublemaker at school, but generally got good grades.

joey doesn’t know when it all went down hill.

he started to notice a chance around fifteen. quieter. still bright, but the light had dimmed.

and it only kept getting dimmer.

he and aoife had tried to talk to you, but you were acting out. you were seventeen now, and it was hard to keep an eye on you. you were coming home late. skipping football practice. joey suspected before aoife. the way you acted was too much like him, and in this scenario, that was not a good thing.

he had been hopefully that the addict gene that the lynch’s seemed to carry would end with him, and had been worried that it would effect his sons.

he didn’t even think about his daughter. his precious girl.

but now here he was, opening your bedside drawers and finding pills in them. aoife is sitting on the bed, confused. upset.

joey just can’t stop thinking about how he missed it. how he missed that his daughter had slipped down the same path he had. so he and aoife had searched the room, and found a few more things. a spoon. a straw.

joey felt sick.

and then they hear footsteps, coming up the stairs. soon enough, you’re standing in the doorway of your room, eyes wide as you stare at your open drawers. at the pills and tools on your bed.