Colin looked up, startled.
“Not because I don’t want you here,” Joshua said. “Because God knows I do. With every breath I take, I want you beside me.” He exhaled slowly, the air trembling in his chest. “But because I think—no, Iknow—you need to find yourself. Without guiltconstricting every breath. Without the need to prove anything toanyone. Without pretense or penance. Without rage, when what the worldneedsfrom you is justice.”
Colin drew Joshua close and pressed their foreheads together, fighting back sobs.
Joshua lifted his head until their eyes met, then leaned another inch closer and whispered: “I love you, Colin. With all my heart. Forever.” He drew in a shaky breath. “But you’re lost, my darling love. And I can’t find you.” He lowered his head, and Colin saw the tears fall from his eyes. Then he lifted his head until their eyes once again locked. “And even worse,mo mhuirnín, you can’t findyourself.”
Colin’s eyes welled.
“Go to Ireland,” Joshua said, his voice a sob in the darkened room, his face streaked with tears. “Walk where your ancestors walked. Sing the music you carry in your blood. Remember who you were—before all this pain and ruin took you away from me.Go find the man I love!” He closed his husband’s hand around the ticket and then cradled Colin’s face between his palms. “And when you find him…pleasebring him home to me.”
The air smelleddifferent in Dublin. Wetter. Softer. Like earth and ancient memory.
Colin stepped out of the terminal with only a small carry-on slung over his shoulder. He hadn’t packed much. Just the essentials—and one photograph of him and Joshua, tucked deep inside his duffle bag.
He didn’t speak to anyone. Didn’t smile. Just moved through customs, then made his way to the train that would take him south.
To Killarney. To Aileen. To the place that had always called to his bones when nothing else made sense.
The taxi rumbledup the narrow gravel lane, tires crunching over stones still wet from morning rain. Colin sat in the backseat, his head resting against the cool glass of the window. Trees arched overhead—familiar, ancient. A canopy of green that whispered welcome in a language older than sorrow.
The driver pulled to a stop in front of a large yellow house at the edge of town. Smoke curled from the chimney. A lace curtain fluttered in the front window. She was waiting for him.
Aunt Aileen stood on the porch, wrapped in her thick wool shawl, hands folded in front of her like she’d been standing there for years—like she’d always be standing there.
Colin stepped out of the cab. Shouldered his bag. Their eyes met. She didn’t speak. Neither did he. She just came down the steps and wrapped him in her arms. He sank into the hug like a man who’d been treading water too long. Let his head drop to her shoulder. Let the tears come—silent, steady, unstoppable.
“There now,” she murmured, stroking his back. “There now,mo chroí. You’ve come home to us, so you have.”
Inside, the fire was already lit—the kettle already whistling. His room was made up just as he’d left it. Just as it had been all those years ago—when he’d come here broken and grieving after Kathy.
Nothing had changed. Nothing except him.
That night, he sat by the hearth while Aileen knitted in her chair across from him. No questions. No conversation. Just the soft crackle of the fire and the rhythm of needles clicking in her lap.
He hadn’t known how badly he needed the quiet until it wrapped around him like a balm.
Tomorrow, he’d walk the park trails again. Visit Ross Castle. Breathe the green back into his lungs. But tonight? Tonight, he was simply home.
Morning light slantedthrough the kitchen window, warming the scrubbed wood table. Aileen moved easily around the stove, the clink of porcelain and the hiss of steam familiar, comforting. She placed a pot of tea between them, then poured it into two mismatched mugs—just like she had when he was a boy.
Colin sat, hands folded around the mug. He hadn’t spoken much since arriving. She hadn’t pressed him.
That was her gift—presence without pressure.
“Sleep all right?” she asked gently, settling across from him.
He nodded. “Some.”
Aileen studied him over the rim of her cup. “You’ve lost weight.”
“I’ve lost a lot of things,” he murmured.
The silence between them stretched—not uncomfortable, but thick with memory. Colin looked out the window, eyes distant. “I keep thinking how much he loves it here,” he said finally. “The light. The quiet. The way the wind sounds different in the trees.”
Aileen waited.
“God, Ahn-tee, I want him with me,” Colin whispered, his voice choked. “Not for me. For him. Because this place… it heals things. And he’s hurting too.”
