Her phone.
She checked the screen.
Michael.
Ugh. No. Absolutely not.
She hit decline so hard, it was personal.
The man had the emotional depth of a puddle and the self-awareness of a chair. Why he still thought they had anything left to say was beyond her.
Still, her thumb hovered.
He’d been charming once. Safe. A plan. A future with spreadsheets and dinner reservations.
But maybe that was the problem.
He’d neverwantedher chaos. Just her shine.
She slipped the phone into her pocket and wandered downstairs, her thoughts still spinning. The kitchen was dark except for the pale moonlight streaming through the lace curtain.
She opened the back door and stepped onto the porch, barefoot on the cool wood.
Above her, the stars were diamonds. The moon glowed full and round like it was watching.
So much peace.
So much...space.
Who had her mother been before she became Maeve the Single Mom in New York?
Why had she never returned? Why had she carried her secrets like armor?
And what about her sperm donor? That was all he’d ever been in her life. No father-daughter dances, no pep talks, no daggered looks at boyfriends. As far as she knew, he didn’t even know she existed or had walked away from her.
Aisling wrapped her arms around herself and stared up at the stars.
All she knew was that when Maeve found out she was pregnant, she left Ireland. Fast. No explanations. No letters home. No answers. And the only reason she knew that was because she was born six months after her mother left the Emerald Isle.
Once, when Aisling was sixteen and angry at the world, she’d asked her mother if she’d been raped. If that’s why she never spoke about her father.
Maeve had just smiled sadly and said, “No. I loved your father. We just couldn’t be together.”
No further details. No name. No picture. Just silence.
It haunted Aisling more than she admitted.
She didn’t need a daddy to save her. But she wanted to know what made herher.Did she look like him? Act like her father?
What part of her belonged to someone she’d never met?
What had been so bad that Maeve fled everything she’d ever known?
Maybe, just maybe, there were more of Noreen’s journals that she’d yet to find. Maybe they would tell her what had happened between her mother and grandmother.
And what part did her father play in separating mother and daughter? Was he the reason her grandmother and mother never spoke again?
Maybe she’d have to find him herself. Everything had started here in Ireland, so he must be here somewhere. But where? And who?
