Contemplating her, it’s easy to see where Elijah inherited his commanding presence, yet he mirrors his father in so many ways. With dark hair and broad shoulders, he carries that strong resemblance. In contrast, Moira’s bright blonde curls frame her face, stopping just at her shoulders, creating a striking juxtaposition between them.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “You must have had the patience of a saint, bringing up five boys.”
She grins, already shaking her head in amusement. “Ah, don't be fooled. I had a secret stash of wine hidden away. They kept me running ragged, they did—but sure, life was never boring. Still isn't."
I turn back to the wall of photos. “Who took these?”
“Elijah.”
I still. There's no chance he took these.
He's never once mentioned doing anything like this, even after the amount of time we've spent together.
“Surprised?” she asks, catching the look on my face.
Surprised doesn't even begin to cover it.
“He's had an eye for it since he was a wee lad,” Moira says fondly. “One year, all he wanted for his birthday was a camera. Drove us mad, it did—flash going off every five minutes. But look at it now. I have a lifetime of memories because of him.”
She turns then, moving down the hall, and gently lifts a frame from its hook before pressing it into my hands.
The moment I look at it, everything inside me splinters.
The warmth drains from the room, like someone opened a window I didn't notice before.
It's Elijah; he's much younger, and his arm is slung around a man I know by heart.
My dad.
Their smiles radiate pure joy, the kind that seems blissfully unaware of its fleeting nature. I grip the frame tightly, feeling sadness wash over me as grief and tenderness entwine, blurring the lines between them until I can no longer discern where one ends and the other begins.
“I’m so sorry about Leon. He was a good soul. A rare one. An incredible man. Raising ye on his own… that takes a strength most people don't have in them these days. And from what I've heard, he’d have every right to be proud of the woman ye are becoming.”
I don't even realise I’m crying until a tear slips free and lands on the glass of the frame. I scrub at it quickly.
God, I miss him.
“He was the best.”
That doesn't even scratch the surface.
Her hand settles over mine. “That he was,” she agrees, then hesitates. “River mentioned you hated Elijah.”
“I did. For a long time,” I admit. “He betrayed my dad.”
Moira sighs softly, the sound heavy with years of knowing. “Oh, he got an earful from me when I found out; make no mistake. I may be his mam, but there was no excuse.” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “That said… Elijah is a good man. Always has been. He cared deeply for your father, and he's carried the weight of that mistake ever since. Regret like that doesn't fade easily.”
I know that. And yet there are still gaps I can't fill.
My dad never told me exactly what happened—only that Rose built herself a shiny new family and forgot about us. And that Elijah… was the one who helped tear it apart.
“Elijah's done a lot for me these past few months, and honestly, I don't think I'd even be here if it wasn't for him.”
She cups my cheek, her touch soft, the kind of motherly affection I’m not used to. It's unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
“You're stronger than ye know, love. And don't ye ever forget—you've a family with us now.”
I find myself leaning into her palm before I even realise I’m doing it. She catches it, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, and instead of commenting, she simply passes me a plate.
