Aisling
She stared at the screen. Her hand hovered over the mouse for a full minute before she finally hit send.
Gone. Delivered. Digital lightning, zipping across continents.
Now she felt sick.
“Aisling?” Ronan’s voice came from the hall. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t look up right away. Her eyes were still locked on the sent confirmation, her heart doing acrobatics.
“I sent it,” she said. “The letter. To Patrick.”
Ronan crossed the dining room in two strides and sat across from her. His presence grounded her more than she cared to admit. No questions. Just quiet support.
“What did you say?” he asked finally.
“That I believed he was my father. That I didn’t want anything from him except the truth.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
With a sigh, she glanced around the formal dining room at the dust covers draped across the furniture.
“I also asked if he knew about me. About my mother. About the fact that she waited for someone who never came back.”
Ronan exhaled through his nose. “And if he never responds?”
Aisling didn’t answer right away. She reached for the ring box and opened it again, staring down at the gold band with a single marquise-shaped diamond. Simple. Elegant. No frills, just like her mother.
It was a thought that had crossed her mind. Then she would never have the answers she sought.
“I’ll survive,” she said finally. “But I’ll always wonder.”
Ronan reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
“You’re braver than I would’ve been.”
She gave a soft snort. “Oh, don’t start. You’re the man who just asked a woman he barely likes to edit his life’s work.”
“Barelylikes?” he said with mock offense. “I’d say we’ve graduated to tolerated-and-mildly-adored.”
A corner of her mouth curled. “It’s been a very strange week.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
They sat there, quiet for a moment. The workers had taken a lunch break. The only sound was Céilí bleating in the distance, probably annoyed her love affair with the billy goats had been cut short by a locked pen.
“I keep thinking about the what-ifs,” she said softly. “What if Patrick didn’t know? What if hedidand left anyway?”
Ronan’s voice was gentle. “Then you’ll have your answer. Either way, you get to stop wondering.”
She nodded, fingers tracing the edge of the ring box. “Closure.”
He leaned closer. “Or… beginning.”
Aisling’s breath caught. “You’re dangerously optimistic, Gallagher.”
“It’s a side effect of kissing you, apparently. Even my bratty brother has noticed.”
