"I’m so tired of being disappointed," she whispered.
Bríd squeezed her hand. "Then stop setting your worth by who stays and who doesn’t. You are enough. You havealwaysbeen enough."
Aisling closed her eyes and let the words settle inside her, fragile and painful and precious.
"I don't know what to do next," she said brokenly.
Bríd kissed the top of her head. "You get up tomorrow. You put one foot in front of the other. You breathe. You write. And you remember that your grandmother, your mother, and all the women who came before you survived harder things than this."
She brushed a strand of hair back from Aisling’s forehead like she was a child.
"And one day, love, you'll look back and realize, this heartbreak, this mess, this beautiful disaster, it made you stronger. It made youyou."
Aisling let the warmth of Bríd’s words settle into her bones.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to forgive Patrick yet.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to love Ronan again—or ever.
Maybe the future was a blank page that terrified her.
But for the first time in a long while, she realized...
She didn’t have to have it all figured out today.
Maybe surviving tonight was enough.
Bríd pulled back, her smile fierce and proud. "Now eat," she said, unpacking scones and jam from the paper bag. "You can't save the world on an empty stomach."
And with the scent of warm bread filling the air, and Bríd bustling around her tiny kitchen, Aisling let herself believe, just for tonight, that she wasn't as alone as she felt.
Maybe, just maybe, she could start again.
CHAPTER30
After Bríd left, leaving behind a kitchen that smelled like toasted bread and maternal stubbornness, Aisling sat for a long time at the battered table, staring at the chipped mug between her hands.
The house felt too big.
Too empty.
Too full of ghosts.
She pushed herself up finally and padded barefoot into the library. The old floorboards creaked under her weight, familiar and comforting.
The engagement ring and the letter still sat where she’d left them days ago.
She hadn't had the strength to touch them again.
Not until now.
Slowly, she sat down on the window seat, the last pink smears of sunset bleeding across the sky outside.
She picked up the letter first, her fingers trembling slightly.
"Dearest Maeve..."
She read it again.
