Patrick had just gotten back from tour. You were his favorite kid. His "little angel." You were the last born out of your siblings, Olivia and Richie, so you were of course babied. And boy, did he love and baby you. Constant gifts, hugs, love. You were practically drowning. And maybe spoiled.

He set his bags and one of his guitars on the table, smiling gently. Mom wasn't home, she was out shopping. Patrick might have estimated his arrival way earlier than the truth. On accident, of course.