Drunk, again

Kian

Dad came home drunk. Again.

I heard him before I saw him—keys fumbling at the door, a muffled curse when he dropped them, the thud of his shoulder hitting the frame on the way in. I didn't move from the couch, just stared blankly at the telly, volume low. Mam was upstairs, probably already pretending to be asleep. That's how she dealt with him on nights like this.

Me? I was just too tired to care.

He stumbled in, reeking of whiskey and whatever cheap cologne he still doused himself in before going out. His eyes landed on me, red and unfocused.

"You're still up," he slurred.

"Yeah," I said, not bothering to look at him. "Didn't wanna miss the pleasure of your company."

He chuckled, dark and bitter. "Smart mouth, just like your ma."

I clenched my jaw, biting back whatever I wanted to say. I'd said it all before. It never mattered.

He dropped onto the armchair with a grunt, head lolling back. "She still playing perfect for the social worker? All smiles and tea and that fake little laugh of hers?"

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

Because earlier—thank God it was earlier—Emi had come by with the social worker. She'd sat at the kitchen table, swinging her legs, talking about school and her favourite TV shows while Mam fussed over biscuits and juice like it was a bloody tea party. She even managed to get Emi laughing. And I saw it—the way the social worker looked at Mam. Like maybe she was starting to believe this could work. That we could get Emi back full-time.

If Dad had shown up then? It would've ruined everything.

"She's trying," I said finally, cold. "At least one of you is."

His head lolled toward me again, eyes narrowing. "You think I don't care about my own daughter?"

"I know you don't care enough to be sober when she's here," I snapped, standing now, every muscle tense.

He laughed again. "You don't know anything, Kian."

"Don't I?"

I stared at him. At the man who was supposed to be a father. Who was supposed to fight for Emi. For Mam. For us. But all he ever fought for was his next drink, his next scheme, his next excuse.

"I'm not gonna let you screw this up," I said quietly, firmly.

His smile faded. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I said, stepping closer, "if the social sees you like this—if Emi sees you like this again—I'll be the one who tells them not to bring her back."

His face darkened. "You'd really do that? To your own family?"

I stared at him, unmoved. "Yeah. Because I actually love her. And I want her safe. Can you say the same?"

He didn't answer.

Just looked away, face pale and suddenly small. Like the weight of everything he'd lost was finally starting to press in.

I turned and walked upstairs, heart pounding.

I didn't slam my door. Didn't shout.

Just sat on the edge of my bed and breathed.

If I had to protect Emi from him—again—I would.

No hesitation.

Because she deserved better than this.

And I was done waiting for him to be the dad we needed.

I couldn't sleep. Not with him downstairs, passed out in the armchair like he hadn't just made everything ten times harder.

I kept thinking about Emi. About the way her little hand fit in mine when she said goodbye earlier, her voice bright but her eyes uncertain—like she was afraid to hope too much.

She wanted to come home. She missed us.

And yeah, Mam's been doing everything right lately. She's been clean for a while now, working part-time, keeping the house tidy. The school even said Emi was doing better in class since the visits started.

But all it would take was one mistake. One slip-up. One drunk outburst. And the social would pull her back into care so fast we wouldn't even hear the door close behind her.

I got up and padded quietly to Mam's room. I knocked once and pushed the door open.

She sat up fast, blinking at me in the dark.

"Kian?"

"He's home," I said quietly.

Her face dropped. "Drunk?"

I nodded. "Worse than usual."

She sighed and rubbed her face, shoulders slumping. "Did he say anything?"

"Same old shite. Tried to talk like he cared, then laughed in my face when I called him out."

Mam looked at me—really looked at me—and I could tell she was scared. Not just of losing Emi. Of what it would mean if we lost her because of him.

"I'm gonna talk to the social," I said. "Tell her I'll be at every meeting. That if he shows up drunk again, I'll make a statement. I'm not risking this."

Her eyes welled a bit, but she nodded. "Alright. Okay."

There was something different in her this time—some kind of quiet resolve. Maybe she'd finally hit her line too. I hoped she had.

Because I couldn't do this alone.

Not forever.

I left her room and went back to mine, dragging the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

My phone buzzed once.

It was a message from my girl.

Princess: You okay?

I stared at it for a moment before typing back.

Me: He came home wrecked. Emi's safe though. She left before.

A pause.

Princess: Wish I was there.

I smiled, even though my chest still ached.

Me: Me too.

Because no matter what else happened, I had something to fight for now.

Emi.

Mallory.

Our baby.

And that was more than he ever gave me.

That was everything.