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FRANKIE GALLAGHER BARELY SLEPT.
Instead of falling into the gentle slumber that welcomed her almost every night of her life, her solid brown eyes remained wide open. They traced every curve and crack that ran across the ceiling of the small room she shared with her younger sister, Debbie and her baby brother, Liam until she all but memorised it. The room was barely big enough for the two tiny twin beds and the weathered, well-used crib that was stuffed under a curve in the wall, but the Gallagher's made it work. The only other option was foster homes and Frankie would rather throw herself into the Chicago river than let her siblings be split up again. With seven mouths to feed and six still in school, money was constantly tight and the Gallagher house rarely felt into the peaceful tranquillity that it currently existed in.
The hours seemed to pass by slowly, only the rhythmic tick of Debbie's alarm clock, occasional police sirens and the distance crack of a gunshot being the only reassurance that the world still continued to turn on its axis. That was until the hushed rustling of her older sister came from the neighbouring room; 6:30 am. Fiona always woke up early to grab a quick shower before the chaos began. Knowing that the opportunity wouldn't present itself again, Frankie waited until her sister had safely returned to her bedroom to occupy the bathroom - grabbing the brown paper bag hidden behind her nightstand as she passed.
The anxiety that bubbled within the Gallagher girls stomach over the past few days began to pump through her veins, causing her hands to tremble as she withdrew the little rectangular box from the paper bag. A pregnancy test. Feeling the cold surface of the ceramic toilet against the back of her legs, Frankie cursed herself for even ending up in this mess in the first place.
