Currently, it was a snowy December evening, and you were sat at the wooden dinner table of a family’s that wasn’t technically your own.

You were the best of friends with Kathleen Furlong, a member of the family in question, and you had been ever since you were very small.

Your parents weren’t the best parents, and your house wasn’t the safest, so more often than not, you spent more hours a week at the Furlong’s family home rather than at your own. Your shitty parents didn’t care very much, which was a nice bonus to the escape from their suffocating lifestyle.

Bill, who was sitting at the head of the table, chatting with one of the littler sisters of Kathleen, was more of a father than your biological one could ever be. He taught you how to ride a bike, how to drive a car- which he made you swear not to tell anyone about, because you were much too young to even be behind a steering wheel.

He had done more for you than your real father ever had, and he looked at you more like a daughter than just his own kid’s friend.

You had been a sweet, good kid since the day he had met you years ago, when Kathleen had invited you over. You had maintained that sweetness and politeness throughout the years despite the circumstances. It blew his and other people’s minds that a kid from people like your parents could turn out so damn good.

“Could you pass the salt and pepper, love?” Bill asked you gently, his Irish accent ever present, his sky coloured eyes landing on you.