Tears pricked at Aisling’s eyes.
"I fell hard and fast," he admitted. "But I was a coward. When Carolyn told me she was pregnant again...I couldn't walk away. I told myself I was doing the right thing and that my family needed me. That Maeve would be fine without me.”
"And she wasn't fine. She worked so hard,” Aisling whispered.
He bowed his head. "I know."
The fire popped sharply, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney.
"I thought she'd move on," he said, voice raw. "Find someone else. Have a happy life. I thought...I thought leaving was a kindness."
"You shattered her," Aisling said, no longer needing to pull her punches. "You left her to pick up the pieces."
"I know," he said again, a broken echo. “And in New York City, not Ireland. All those years, she was just down the road from me.”
They sat there, the old house groaning quietly around them, carrying the weight of ghosts and grief.
"But you're here now," Aisling said at last, almost to herself.
"I want to be," Patrick said.
She hesitated. The easy thing would be to stay angry. To shut the door and lock it tight.
But Maeve O’Byrne had spent her life building walls to protect her broken heart. And where had it left her? Alone. Estranged. Full of regrets.
Aisling wasn’t going to live like that. Not anymore. Last night, she’d made the decision never to let pain and bitterness keep her from the important people in her life. Today, she had to act on that decision.
"I want to meet my brothers," she said suddenly, surprising even herself.
Patrick's head jerked up. "You do?"
"If I'm going to do this," she said, voice trembling but firm, "I want to know the whole story. All of it. Not just bits and pieces. They are a part of the story.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'll tell them. Carefully. I need time."
She nodded. "I can give you that."
His shoulders sagged like the weight of a lifetime had just slipped partially off his back.
"And I’m not promising," she said, "that I’ll be ready for Christmas dinners and family photos. But I’m willing to take it slow.”
His laugh was low and grateful. "I'll take whatever you’re willing to give."
They sipped their tea in the firelight. The old hurts were still there, raw and gaping. But maybe there was room now for something else. Something new.
"You’re staying in town?" she asked.
He nodded. "Rented a cottage down the lane. Thought I’d be close by. Just... not in your face."
Her mouth twitched. "Probably smart."
He grinned, and for the first time, she saw him, not the father she’d missed. Not the ghost she’d chased. Just a man trying, clumsy and real.
"Will you come to Sunday dinner next week?" he asked. "Just us. No pressure."
Aisling hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Good," he said, visibly relieved. "And... Aisling?"
