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“But ye have to get through this,” I say softly. “Ye have to try. I’m not goin’ anywhere, and if ye can endure this, we’ll come out the other side—together. Scream at me. Hate me if it helps. Strike me if it eases the pain.”

She doesn’t speak, but her grip tightens, and it’s enough.

I press on, voice rougher now, heavier.

“From the moment Ma and Da brought ye into Connemara, I kent I’d shield ye with my life. For nineteen years, Triona, my only purpose has been keepin’ ye safe—makin’ sure ye were standin’ here, right now, whole. I dinnae ken what happens next,” I admit, eyes burning, “but I’ll be yer shield. I’ll give ye strength, just like ye’ve done for me all these years.”

A long silence stretches between us. I almost leave it there—but my heart won’t let me.

“Ye’re the blessin’ that made our family whole,” I murmur. “Ye filled our home with light—a light guidin’ all of us.”

I pause, catching her narrowed gaze as she finally glances up. The emotion there is sharp—uncertain. I clear my throat, suddenly awkward under the weight of my own words.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is… the love Ma and Da had for ye—it’s the same love I carry. I’ve just been too blind to show it right.”

Without a second thought, she crashes into my arms, allowing me to shoulder some of the unbearable pain. I hold her as she weeps. I hold her through the sobbing and wailing. And as I hold her, I allow myself to grieve.

For the first time since our parents’ deaths, I let the pain course through me—grief for the hand fate has dealt us, for all that we’ve lost, and all that we are yet to lose.

With my head bowed to the top of hers, I murmur, “I dinnae expect ye to forgive me now. I’ll carry the weight for the rest of my life, but I’ll never regret my decision to choose ye.”

We sit in silence, the world outside fading away, swathed in our shared sorrow.

“Cal,” she finally whispers, her voice so fragile it nearly shatters me. “I feel as if the broken shards inside of me will never heal... and I’ll fail everyone because of this misery.”

I hold her tighter, my voice soft in her ear. “Ye’re not broken, Triona. Ye’re hurtin’, but it’ll heal enough. Yer strength isn’t lost. And I’ll be right here, no matter what.”

She shakes her head against my chest, then chokes out, “I don’t believe this will ever heal… and I wish Finn hadn’t loved me.”

My grip tightens instinctively, fear lacing through me at the rawness of her confession. “And I wish I hadn’t loved him.”

“Ye dinnae mean that,” I murmur, though deep down I know the pain makes her believe it. It makes me terrified to take my eyes off her, afraid of what she might do if the weight becomes too much.

“By the sounds of it, Finn’s love for ye was inevitable,” I say quietly. “I was a fool for how I acted when I found out.”

She doesn’t respond—only cries harder. Her tears fall in steady streams, each one cutting deeper into both of us.

“He loved ye more than anythin’, Tri. It’d been right in front of my face for years, and I was too blind to see it. He made this choice so ye could live—so we all could. And I promise, the time he spent lovin’ ye was worth the sacrifice.”

She nods, finally accepting the truth, even as the tears keep falling.

“I know,” she whispers. “But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

I hook a finger under her chin and gently drag her gaze up to meet mine. Her emerald eyes are clouded with a sorrow too deep for words.

“Ye’re stronger than ye think, Triona. I believe in ye. Every step forward is a step toward healin’, no matter how small.”

She nods again, but it feels hollow. She pushes off my chest, gaze falling back to the ground as if the weight of her grief has dragged her back down.

“Cal?” she breathes, voice stretched so thin it barely holds.

“Aye?” I reply, my heart aching to feel her presence steady once more.

“I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. Somehow needing to hear those words. “I ken, but ye dinnae have to be.”

“You lost him, too.”