Page 63 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Chapter fifty-eight

Mira

H e’d loaded my bags into the rental and closed the hatch.

The sound echoed like the chime mechanism of a grandfather clock, that solemn pause just before the hour strikes—time advancing, inevitable, no matter how desperately I wished it would stop, just for a moment.He came to me where I stood on the curb and placed his hands gently on either side of my face.

His palms were cool, steady against my trembling cheeks, grounding me, willing me to look at him—to really see him.

My eyes were blurred with tears, clinging to my lashes before spilling down, and I looked up at him through the blur, seeing him clearly in every way that mattered.

“Say something…” I choked, my voice cracking beneath the weight of everything, wanting his voice to fill the void.

He shook his head slowly, a white flag waving that said he would fight no more.

“There’s nothin’ left for me to tell ye,” he said, his voice low, thick with the ache he would no longer hide from me.

“I’ve pled my case. I love ye. But it’s more than just love, lass—it’s fate.

I was meant to love ye, Mira Garvie. From the moment I saw ye, I knew. ”

He leaned closer, his forehead touching mine. “And I think—deep down—ye were meant to love me too.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed into him as hard as I could, needing to feel the solid weight of him, the quiet strength of his arms closing around me. It was the only place I’d ever truly felt at peace—held tightly against his chest, the world falling silent around us.

I needed that one last time.

Just enough peace to carry me through the leaving.

In the end, it was Baird who let go. He eased me back, his hands gentle but firm, guiding me away from the haven I couldn’t seem to pull myself from. He gave me the distance I needed, even when I couldn’t find the strength to take it myself.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to ask one last question. “Will you go back to the island?”

“Aye,” he said. “That’s my home. Bunny tolerates it here in the city, but not for long. I’ll close up the house and head back tomorrow.”

He opened my door and waited as I slid into the seat and buckled my seatbelt.“Will ye text me when ye get back home?” he asked, voice low. “Just so I know ye made it safely?”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. If I tried to speak, it would come out in tears.

He closed the door gently, then stepped back to the curb. He lifted a hand in a small wave—almost shy—and then turned away without looking back.

As I pulled into traffic, I glanced once in the rearview mirror and saw him, the street and the city shrinking behind me.

And I wondered how long it would be before he found the box I’d left on his bedside table.

The one with Agnes’s portrait.Back at last where it belonged.

After returning the rental car, I took the tram to the terminal.

I sleepwalked through security, barely registering the motions—shoes off, conveyor belt, body scan.

It all passed in a blur, like I was watching someone else move through the steps of travel, detached from my own body.

I found the nearest café and ordered a coffee, just for the comfort of something warm to hold.

When I finally boarded the plane, I curled into my seat, drawing the blanket tighter around me like a barrier against the world, tears still falling down my cheeks.

The flight attendant approached, gentle-voiced, offering tissues, a drink—kindness I couldn’t bring myself to accept.

I waved her off with a small shake of my head.

I think she was worried, but she didn’t press.

I’m sure I wasn’t the first wreck she’d seen on this route—someone quietly unraveling at thirty thousand feet, leaving behind a city, a job, a person…

trying to stitch together a plan for what came next, even when every piece still felt scattered and raw.

As my tears fell, I realized they weren’t just for Baird—they were for my parents too.

For everything I’d lost, then and now, twisting around and back upon itself.

I felt hollow, like a husk—nothing but a bleak cavern inside me, dark and echoing with absence.

I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. The idea of closing my eyes and slipping into dreams terrified me more than being awake in this limbo.

I knew it wouldn’t be Bastien waiting there in the shadows—his haunting had passed.

No, the real fear came from what my mind might show me instead: a future without Baird.

The silence where his voice should be. The absence of that steady, fierce presence that had wrapped around me like armor.

The thought of waking from that dream, alone, was more than I could bear.