*Note: This is a work of Fanfiction. I do not own the Simpsons, no matter how much I wish I did*

Chapter One

‘Where did I go wrong?’ I ask myself as I stare despondently into the bottom of my glass of courage. This isn’t the first time this thought has crossed my mind. In fact more often than not I find myself sitting here, alone, in the dark comforts of the local tavern.

Alcoholism is a terrible disease; I learnt that from my father first and foremost. Time and again I’ve danced dangerously on the line that separates habit from addiction and I know it’s wrong. So very, very wrong that I am even sitting here, tempting myself. But here I am, just like every Sunday evening. Alone.

Finally I managed to draw my gaze from that amber measure of peace and I reach into my breast pocket. Next to my rosary, I find what I seek. The only relic I have left of my old life, my old…family.

This photo is all I have left of them.

“Ruth…Laura…” My eyes take in every inch, every detail they can find, then they turn to the infant crying in his mother’s arms. “Caleb…”

My eyes then fill with tears, like they always do, because I realize I can’t picture how they would look today. If they were still alive, that is. If only…

I still remember how we met, back before I heard my calling and joined the priesthood. She was a rich contractor’s daughter stuck in Dublin, Ireland of all places. She just wanted some fun and I… well, I gave it to her. At the time I was just an ignorant busboy working at my father’s tavern, but the moment I laid eyes on my darling Ruth, I knew she was meant to be with me.

My family disapproved, of course. They said she was ‘unfit for marriage’ because she was foreign and even worse, a heathen whore. God that hurt so much to hear, and from my own mother no less. I knew my father enough to know he would eventually sober up enough to lay into me as well, so I did they only reasonable thing left to do. I fled.

I ran to the one place we could be together, her hometown of Springfield, back in America. We wed and soon discovered she was with child. I named her Laura, after my mother, just to spite her.

Years drifted past and then we had Caleb. We were happy, but I always regretted cutting my family out of our lives. I tried to contact my family a few months after he was born, wishing there was some chance, some small hope of reconciliation.

But then I received word that my mother was seriously ill and my father demanded that I return at once to pay my debt of respect to the woman who raised me practically all by herself. That night, as I reassured Ruth and sweet little Laura that I’d be back as soon as possible, I had no idea it would be for the last time. Who would?

When I reached ‘home’, back in Dublin, my family relayed the news that shattered my existence.

“I’m sorry, son. There was an accident. A bad one… your wife and kids are…no one survived.” My father almost looked remorseful as he told me. It’s the closest to tears I’d ever seen him. Those words haunt me to this day.

“Dead? All of them?” My disbelieving eyes had searched my father for any sign of hope. But there was none to be had in the old man’s weather-beaten face. My mother eventually recovered and I decided to fill the void in my heart the only way I’d been raised to. With God.

That following spring I began my tutelage as a messenger of the Lord. After being ordained, I moved back to Springfield, despite my family’s objections and took a job as a teacher at St. Jeromes Catholic School. It was the only way I could still feel close to the woman who completed me.

A single tear traces a path down my cheek and I sigh, reaching for the glass again. Too many painful memories, but it’s the only way to know I’m still alive!

Across the room a large, balding man I recognize as Homer Simpson spots me and grins drunkenly.

“Don’t I know you?” He expels loudly after walking over. His breath reeks of alcohol and seeing his dilapidated state is all the encouragement I need to push mine away.

“Yes, Homer. I’m Father Sean, from St. Jeromes. I taught your son for a short while.”

“Oh, yeah…you converted me to Catholicism. I remember now. So… how’s things?” He slumps into the booth opposite my own and chuckles awkwardly.

“Not too badly… just enjoying a little Irish courage.” My eyes travel to the glass once more but I resolutely return them to my unlikely companion. He looks confused so I add, “Whiskey.”

“You know what you need? A woman! My Marjorie is the sweetest little thing…” His lips curl up into a tight smile and his eyes loose focus. Those words cut into me but I bear the pain.

“You know I can’t have that, Homer. I’m a priest! The Lord is all the companionship I need.” I smile a crocodile’s grimace and pray he’d just pass out already.

“Huh? Pfft! Sheesh, did you ever get a raw deal! No women?” His eye’s refocus on what I have in my hand, the photo. “Then who’s this?”

Before I can react he swipes it from my grasp and giggles like a child.

“Hey…wait a minute. “ His face goes deadpan. “Why do you have a picture of my wife’s crazy friend? You got a thing for single moms?”

His words slam into my like an angry bull.

“What are you saying, Homer? You know this woman?” I reach across the table and grab him not so gently by the collar of his shirt to force his attention away from my beloved Ruth.

“What? Yeah, that’s my annoying next-door neighbor, what’s her name? Oh, yeah. Ruth…something…Powers! Yeah, that’s it! Ruth Powers!” He grins at his perceived feat of mental prowess.

Then the second shock bestowed on my by this inebriated man sets in. Powers? As in; my old drinking buddy, Max Powers? Nagging doubts quickly turn into puzzle pieces and fall into place. I can see it now, I was a fool to believe my father. He wouldn’t even let me leave to attend the funeral of my wife and children and I never found the resolve to disobey him until it was far too late.

“She’s still alive…” I’m such a fool.

Hey… where ya goin?” Homer yells when I stand and turn to leave. Without a second thought I pull out my wallet and slam twenty dollars on the table. He eyes the money suspiciously.

“Thank you, Homer. Have a couple on me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see my wife.” His eyes widen but I’m already out the door and into the darkened streets before he can voice a reply.