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“Only the one time. When she refused to leave, I walked away.” His answer held years of restraint, anger, and a loyalty that had cost him the life he might have shared with us.

“Why didn’t she leave?” I asked, because leaving Nolan seemed obvious now that he was gone and could no longer punish any of us.

“Divorce is a sin, Maddie.” Cian’s resignation made the answer sound older than the people trapped beneath it.

“So is adultery,” I muttered, unwilling to let faith excuse choices that had shaped my entire life. Religion seemed like a fragile defense for a secret that had survived nearly three decades.

“Maddie,” he warned, although his voice held no real anger.

I rolled my eyes. “She doesn’t even go to church. Except for Mass on Christmas and Easter.”

Cian shrugged, but sadness settled into his expression. “We grew up Catholic, Maddie. That shit is ingrained in us. If she were divorced, she’d never be able to get remarried in the church.”

“But now he’s dead.” The words left me with none of the relief they should have carried, because Nolan’s death had not released us from the damage he left behind. It didn’t take away the grief from losing my husband and son.

“And we can’t tell anyone,” Cian reminded me, closing the conversation with yet another secret. The irony settled heavily between us because secrecy was the inheritance that had wounded us both.

Another secret closed around us. My family had spent generations hiding love to survive men who believed blood gave them ownership, and although I wasn’t ready to forgive my mother, I understood that the truth had not given me a new father that morning; it had finally named the one who had loved me all along.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The words followed me down the stairs of Duncan’s house, fastening themselves to every other truth I had been forced to carry in silence. I had been Salvatore’s wife, but I couldn’t wear his name. I was Henry’s mother, but I couldn’t step into his life. Now I had finally found the father I had spent most of my childhood wishing for, and I still couldn’t tell anyone he was mine.

Cian came down behind me—close enough for me to hear the weight of each step, far enough not to crowd me. I didn’t look toward the parlor, where Uncle Sal, Duncan, and the others remained. I couldn’t survive another concerned expression or one more man telling me that the secrets that had destroyed my life had been kept for my protection.

Mom was gone. She had left after I told her I didn’t want to look at her, and the foyer still held the cold rush of the door she had slammed behind her. Regret tried to rise, but anger blocked it. I loved her. I knew I loved her. But love couldn’t become forgiveness while the wound was still opening.

I reached for my coat, but my hands shook too badly to manage the buttons. Cian stepped closer, lifted it from the hook, and held it open without touching me. He waited until I slipped my arms through the sleeves before settling it carefully over my shoulders.

“I’m going home,” I said. My voice sounded exhausted instead of angry, and that frightened me more than rage would have. Anger required strength; I had spent all of mine upstairs.

Cian’s hand paused on his coat. “To your grandfather’s house?”

The question scraped against everything still raw inside me. That was where Mom and I lived now. It was where my clothes were, where Salvatore’s ring disappeared beneath my sweater each morning, and where I had spent months learning how to survive being two hundred miles from Henry. But Mom would go back there too, and I couldn’t walk into that quiet house and pretend I was ready to face her.

“Where else am I supposed to go?” I asked.

He studied me for a moment, then looked toward the parlor. “Give me a minute.”

Before I could argue, Cian crossed the foyer and spoke quietly to Duncan. I caught only Colleen’s name before Duncan glanced toward me, understanding settling over his face. He disappeared down the hall and returned with a single key pinched between his fingers.

“Colleen’s apartment is empty,” Cian said when he came back to me. “Duncan has a spare. You can stay there tonight, or longer if you need to.”

I looked at Duncan. “She won’t mind?”

“Not even a little,” he said, pressing the key into my palm. “Stay as long as you want, sweetheart.”

The metal felt cold against my skin. I closed my fingers around it and looked at Cian. “Mom won’t be there?”

“No.”

For the first time since I came downstairs, the next hour felt survivable. “Then take me there.”

Cian pulled on his coat but didn’t reach for me or my bag. He opened the front door and waited, giving me the same thing everyone else had spent my life taking away: a choice.

I walked through it.

The wind caught the dampness on my face and turned the last traces of my tears cold against my skin. Boston had settled into the particular cruelty of early spring: flowers pushing through the soil while winter lingered sharp enough to punish anything foolish enough to trust the thaw. I pulled my coat tighter and followed him down the steps.