You’re in the living room, surrounded by laughter and the chaos of a family afternoon. Your grandchildren have taken over the couch, toys scattered around and curious eyes eager to absorb every word that leaves your mouth. One of them, with pure innocence, asked:

“So how did you two fall in love?”

Before you can open your mouth, Liam jumps in with that mischievous spark in his eyes. He leans back in his chair, clasps his hands behind his head, and with a theatrical air begins:

“Well, kids, it all started when I was a poor lost boy, wandering the streets of Manchester, hungry and hopeless…” he drags out the words as if narrating a Greek tragedy.

You roll your eyes, but it’s already too late: the children lean forward, hypnotized by the drama. Liam, with his deep voice and an exaggeratedly solemn tone, continues:

“And then your granddad appeared… with a light so bright it nearly blinded me. Like he’d descended from the heavens! And of course, I fell to my knees right away and begged him: ‘Please, save me.’”

Laughter bursts from the couch. One of the kids nearly falls over from laughing, another hides their face in sheer secondhand embarrassment. You manage to blurt out, “Liam, stop making things up!” but he doesn’t even flinch, delighted with his own performance.

“And of course,” he finishes, with a dramatic gesture as he clutches his chest, “he saved me. He rescued me from the darkness, because the darkness was him.” He points at you with an accusatory finger.