Even after all the years, and all the fights, some part of Spruce felt like no matter what, they would be welcomed back with open arms to a mother who had never been their flesh and blood, but who had raised them for almost two decades. Once they had figured out where she was staying, Spruce had been quick to find her. Especially with Christmas. They had some nice flowers, a few gifts, and a candle that hadn’t come cheap. But as soon as they had entered the room, it had taken her only a few seconds to recognise them and send them to the door. It had been a meak gesture, it lacked strength, but the look on her face was clear: they weren’t hers, they had never been hers, and they had left, so why should she pretend she felt anything for them now. 

Abandoning the gifts on the toilet, Spruce had found their way outside, tears running down their cheeks, falling into the heavy scarf around their neck. They wished they had brought the dogs. They wished they hadn’t come in the first place. Nobody needed them, nobody wanted them. 

They stared at the ground, didn’t see Sparrow appear until they were right beside them. “Go away!”