"I love you, Aisling," he said quietly. "I have from the moment I learned about you. I just didn’t know how to find you. I’m so proud to call you my daughter.”
Then he stepped out into the misty Irish evening, leaving her alone in the quiet house, staring after him with her heart splintered wide open.
CHAPTER29
Later that evening, the house sat cloaked in a heavy, aching silence.
Aisling stared at the cold cup of tea in front of her, the steam long since faded, the lemon wedge wilted against the rim. Her hands were wrapped around the mug, clinging to it like an anchor, but it offered no comfort.
The words kept spinning in her head.
"I love you, Aisling. I have from the moment I learned about you."
How could something she had wanted her entire life hurt so damn much? Wasn’t this what she’d waited to hear from her father? And yet it wasn’t filling the ache inside her.
A soft knock sounded at the back door. She didn’t move at first, too hollowed out by the day. But then the door creaked open without waiting for an answer.
Bríd’s head poked around the frame, her wise, lined face soft with concern.
"Didn’t think you’d lock it," she said gently. "Thought I’d check."
Aisling managed a broken sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“My father showed up,” she said. “He came.”
Bríd crossed the kitchen, a brown paper bag in her hands, and without asking, set it down and came straight to her.
She wrapped her arms around Aisling and simply held her.
No words.
No judgment.
Just quiet, fierce love.
And Aisling, stubborn, wounded Aisling, finally let go.
The tears came hard, shuddering sobs that racked her body. She clung to Bríd like a drowning woman to driftwood, all the heartbreak, all the betrayal, all thewhy wasn’t I ever enough?pouring out of her.
"There, there, my girl," Bríd murmured into her hair, rocking her gently like she was still a little girl. "Cry it out. You don’t have to be strong for me."
It felt like an eternity before Aisling could breathe properly again. When she finally pulled back, Bríd cupped her face in her weathered palms and wiped the tears away with her thumbs.
"You listen to me," she said firmly. "Not every man knows how to love right. Some of them don't even know they've been given a treasure until it's too late. But that isnota reflection of you. It's their shame to carry, not yours."
Aisling blinked at her, throat tight.
"I know it feels like the world’s ending," Bríd said. "But it's just...a chapter, love. Not the whole book."
Aisling gave a watery laugh. "You sound like an editor."
"Good," Bríd said, smiling gently. "Because the story you’re writing—your life—it’s far from over. It's just getting to the good part."
She pulled a flask from her pocket and poured a little whiskey into Aisling’s cold tea without asking.
"Drink that. It'll put the color back in your cheeks."
Aisling took a sip and coughed, but the burn in her throat reminded her she was still alive.
