He’d always had some sort of nicotine addiction. He’d picked it up from his own father’s insatiable need for a cigar.

Though recently, after the death of your youngest, Evan, he’d spent more time outside with a cigarette between his lips.

You couldn’t blame the man, he was mourning. But you wished he would stop such a nasty habit, in case it influenced your daughter or your eldest, Michael.

“William, it’s raining cats and dogs, come inside” you said gently one night. William just huffed.