Page 48

CHAPTER 48

DINARA

Cillian left hours ago, and somehow, the house feels emptier without him, like he took its heart and soul with him.

I sit on the back deck, nursing my coffee, trying to shake the feeling of loneliness settling over me. Maybe I should visit my siblings and friends tomorrow. The thought of seeing them, of being surrounded by familiar faces, offers a small sense of relief.

With a sigh, I pull out my phone and quickly text Alisa and Natalia, letting them know I’ll be coming over for the day.

Their replies come almost instantly, their excitement mirroring mine. A selfish part of me wishes they could find love close by so we can always be near each other.

As I finish texting Konstantin to let him know about my plans, Mary steps outside.

“Mrs. Quinn?”

For a second, I forget that’s my new name until she repeats it.

“Sorry,” I laugh nervously. “What is it?”

“You have a visitor.”

“Oh?” I sit up straighter. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Quinn.”

I frown. “Who?”

“Sorry, Quinn Senior.” She laughs.

My heart jumps a little. Patrick Quinn is here ? Why?

I set my cup down on the table and immediately stand, a rush of curiosity buzzing through me. I’ve hardly spoken to him, just a few polite words at the wedding. Given the history between our families, I never imagined he'd come to see me.

“He’s waiting in the den,” Mary adds.

I follow her through the double glass doors, stepping into the room where Patrick is sitting on the sofa, glancing at something on his phone. An envelope rests beside him on the cushion. He looks up as I enter, tucking his phone away and standing to greet me with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced. But I know Cillian’s gone, and I wanted to come say hello and check on you."

I’m taken at the unexpected concern. “Oh…thank you. I’m doing okay.”

“That's good.” He nods, as if considering his next words, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he takes my hand in his, his grip warm. “I know we haven’t had any time to talk, but I wanted you to know that I’m happy Cillian has you.” His gaze softens, his words catching me off guard.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.” My pulse stutters.

He nods, releasing a sigh. “I’ve gotta admit, I wasn’t so thrilled with the idea of you two together at first, but I’ve come to realize that whatever problems our families had, it has nothing to do with you kids.”

I blink back the tears clouding my vision. I can only imagine how hard this has been for him, losing his wife the way he did.

“I hold no grudges.” I offer a small, genuine smile.

He stares fondly. “I also came to give you something.”

Reaching for the envelope, he picks it up, staring down at it as though it weighs more than it does, while I grow with confusion.

“Before my wife was…killed, she wrote letters. One for each of our children.” It’s obvious he’s struggling with what he wants to say. “And one for the people they’d end up with.”

Oh…

A throbbing blooms in the center of my chest. I can’t even begin to imagine the strength and pain it must’ve taken for her to do that. But I know how much it would’ve meant to me to have a letter, just one more piece of my mother.

He holds out the envelope for me, and I freeze, afraid of it somehow. My fingers tingle as I take it, pressing it close to my chest. I already know whatever is inside will break me.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’m sure she was an amazing woman.”

“She was.” After a beat, he squeezes my hand. “I know Stella would’ve really liked you.”

My throat tightens and I swallow hard, struggling to keep my composure.

“As I do.”

The words land heavy on my heart, mattering more than he realizes.

“I want you to know that no matter what happened between our families, you will always have a place here. To me, you are my daughter now. No different than my own kids. You understand?”

A tear slips free, then another. I swipe at them, completely overwhelmed.

When I was growing up, my father would never have said anything remotely this sweet. He never even gave me love to begin with. And here is Patrick Quinn, a man who has every reason to resent me, telling me I belong. That I’m his family.

I throw my arms around him, and he holds me, letting me cry. A part of me never realized how much I’ve been missing this—a parental figure, people I can count on. Maybe Cillian’s family will be that for me.

After a moment, he pulls back. “Why don’t you come over for lunch? Fernanda cooked, and we’d love the company.”

I sniffle, letting out a small laugh. “Okay. Yeah, I’d like that.”

With one final glance at the letter, I tuck it safely into a drawer, returning to him.

Tonight, when I’m alone, I’ll be ready to read it.

And even though we never met, I already know…I love her.

* * *

STELLA

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO

This has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do as a mother. To write letters to each one of my children as though it’s the last thing I’ll ever say to them is like a knife to my chest. But it just might be the last time.

Our life is dangerous, and at times, I forget that. So there may come a time when I won’t be here to hold them, to guide them, to love them. I want more than anything for them to know how much they mean to me even when I’m not there to show it. To tell them how special they are.

There is so much I could possibly miss out on. Their weddings, the first time they become parents, the sense of overwhelming love they will come to know as I did when I became a mother.

Tears fall down my cheeks, but I blot them away with my fingertips. I just have one more letter to write, this time to the person Cillian will hopefully one day fall in love with.

Whoever she is, I’m sure she’ll be special, and he will cherish her with everything he has. Because that’s who he’s always been: a protector.

To the woman who will one day marry my Cillian,

I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. That I could sit across from you, hold your hands in mine, and tell you in person how grateful I am that you love my son. But life doesn’t always give us what we want, and unfortunately, I’m not around to welcome you the way I should have been.

I hope that doesn’t make you sad. And more importantly, I hope you don’t let him be sad. Because if I know my Cillian, he’s already found a hundred different ways to blame himself for my death, no matter the circumstances. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when it’s not his burden to bear.

Please don’t let him do that. Remind him that not everything is in his control, that fate has a mind of its own, and sometimes we don’t get to rewrite the endings.

I have no doubt that he loves you with every piece of his soul. He’s not perfect, no one is, but love like his is rare. And with love comes mistakes, comes hurt, comes lessons that will test the both of you. But I hope you always find your way back to each other. There is strength in forgiveness, in choosing each other over and over again, no matter how difficult life becomes. Believe me, I know that all too well.

Cillian is intense, stubborn, protective. He loves deeply, sometimes to a fault. But beneath that, he is still the boy I raised, the one with a heart too big for his own good. Love him fiercely, stand by his side, and never let him forget that he is worthy of happiness.

And for you—my daughter now too—I want you to know that you are enough. That you are worthy of the love he gives you and of every happiness life has to offer.

Hold on to one another. Cherish the good days, fight through the hard ones, and never forget that love, real love, is always worth fighting for.

With all my heart,

Mom

* * *

DINARA

I wipe away the stream of tears running down my cheeks as I clutch the letter against my chest. I don’t know what I expected to find in her words, but what I found was peace.

Placing the paper on the nightstand beside me, I cling to the quiet sadness of knowing I’ll never meet the woman who wrote those beautiful words.

I hate that. I hate that it was my family—my uncle—who took such a wonderful person away. She should have been here for our wedding, should’ve danced with her son. Instead, all he has left of her is these final words.

Staring up at the ceiling, I think about my own mother. What she would have said to me if she’d ever written a letter to me. She’d probably tell me to be strong, to never take anyone’s shit, to not let the world beat me down the way my father did. She’d tell me she was sorry for staying, that she wished she could’ve given me a better life.

Or at least that’s what I want to believe.

She was my rock. The only thing that kept me from falling into the same darkness that took her. And when she was gone, I didn’t know how I’d survive.

But I did. We don’t realize our own strength until we’re forced to face the impossible, and that was what losing my mother felt like to me.

Shutting off the bedside lamp, I roll onto my side, willing myself to sleep. But it doesn’t come. Not without him. As I lie alone in this massive bed, everything feels too big. Too empty.

My phone chimes on the nightstand, and I grab it quickly, my heart flipping at the sight of his name on the screen.

We talked earlier, right after I got back from his father’s. I told him how Patrick had accepted me, and I could hear the happiness in his tone. But I didn’t mention the letter. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was afraid the reminder of her would shake the fragile foundation of what we’ve rebuilt.

But now, after reading it, I need to tell him. It was too beautiful.

“Hey, you,” I answer softly.

“Hey, baby. Are you in bed yet?”

“Yes,” I tease. “Why do you want to know?”

His laughter deepens. “Get your head out of the gutter, girl. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

A slow smile spreads across my lips. “That’s sweet of you, Mr. Quinn.” I let out a yawn. “I miss you.”

“Miss me, huh?” His tone lowers slightly. “How much?”

“Too much,” I admit, closing my eyes and imagining he’s right beside me. “When are you coming home?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

I sigh dramatically. “I guess I’ll survive. Oh, I was going to go over Konstantin’s tomorrow to see Tatiana and Gregory.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll set up the plane.”

“Thanks.” I let out another deep yawn.

“You sound tired, love.”

“Mm…yeah. But I just can’t seem to sleep without you.”

“How about this? Close your eyes, and I’ll stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep.”

I groan. It’s exactly what I need, having a part of him even when he’s not here.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

A beat of silence passes.

“By the way, your father gave me something when he came by.”

“What’s that?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Your mom…she wrote me a letter.”

He pauses, and I’m almost nervous he’ll get upset at the mention of her.

“What?” His voice grows more curious than mad.

“Your dad said she wrote letters to each of you and the people you’d end up with, so he gave it to me."

Silence lingers on the other end, thick and weighted. When he exhales, it’s slow, almost hesitant. Like the memory of her still sneaks up on him, no matter how much time has passed.

“Shit. I forgot about that. What did she say?”

A small, bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. “Well…she said you’d probably be a pain in my ass, but that I should love you anyway.”

His laughter makes me laugh too, the cadence warm, familiar. Home .

“Yeah…that sounds like my mother.”

My grip tightens around the phone, my pulse picking up speed. I can feel it building inside me, the need to tell him how much I’m falling in love with him, to tell him just what he means to me, what he’s always meant to me.

“Cillian?”

“Hmm?”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

Just say it.

“I—”

But before I can, he stops me.

“No.” That one word is thick and raw with meaning. “If you’re about to say what I think you are, I want to see you when you do. I want to touch you.” A beat of silence, then softer, rougher, “Think you can wait for me, baby?”

Emotions press hard against my ribs, so many of them I can barely count. I nod, even though he can’t see it.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“That’s my good girl.” Those words caress down my skin, sending warmth through me. “Now close your eyes,” he murmurs. “I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Another yawn escapes me, my body growing heavier with exhaustion.

I put the phone on speaker and pull the blanket tight around me, pretending it’s him—his warmth, his presence, his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek. I can’t wait to hold him again. To finally say the words out loud.

And as his breathing fills the silence between us, my body finally relaxes and I sleep.

With not a single nightmare to follow.