Chapter 30
thirty
Stevie
Six Months Later
I don’t cry when I open the envelope from the insurance company.
Instead, I read every line. Twice.
Then I slide it into the labeled folder with the others, which I’ve organized and color-coded.
One for life insurance. One for the umbrella policy.
One for the driver’s criminal proceedings.
I keep them in a portable file box now, tucked behind the staircase at my parents’ house like a briefcase for a life I didn’t ask for but don’t flinch from anymore.
Jude stacks train tracks by the Christmas tree while I work at the kitchen table. My leg’s elevated on a chair, iced and aching from the intense PT this morning. It’s not unbearable anymore, though.
I can’t kneel, run or walk down the steps normally, but I don’t need help to get out of bed and can walk 5000 steps.
Progress.
Across from me, Joni scrolls her phone with her headphones in. She knows I’m in the zone and fueled by half coffee, half adrenaline. A version of me has emerged I didn’t know existed.
The younger, take-charge version of myself is back. I track medical records, therapy schedules, legal correspondence, settlement timelines. Stevie 2.0 says no when doctors push too fast and yes when Isla cries in the middle of the night and needs to talk about her dad in heaven.
Somehow, old Stevie slowly disappeared once Jude came.
Cooper began to handle everything. Bills.
Finances. Home maintenance. Bedtime negotiations.
It happened so gradually, I didn’t realize how much space he filled until he was gone and I couldn’t breathe under the weight of everything he left behind.
Now I’m doing it. All of it. For the girls. For Jude. For me.
“I haven’t seen you much since I moved out. Wow, you’ve leveled up.” Joni breaks the silence quietly, like she doesn’t want to jinx it.
I glance up. “Well, I had no choice.”
“I’m proud of you. You’re a survivor,” she says. “You’re rebuilding.”
I press my palm to the page and smooth it flat, like I can iron out the worry.
“Eh? I’m figuring it out,” I say. “Some days feel steady. Some don’t.”
Joni doesn’t push.
“Isla’s afraid to get in the car,” I admit. “She started talking to the school counselor. I gave her permission to go whenever she needs, even if it’s in the middle of class. She’s painting and drawing a lot. Art therapy. It’s helping strengthen all the muscles in her hand.”
Joni tilts her head. “Amazing.”
“She draws him.” My voice trembles a bit. “What she remembers. What she misses. It guts me, but it’s good she’s letting it out.”
“And Lila?”
“She won’t talk about it. Not directly.” I sigh.
“I’ve been planting seeds like leaving coloring pages on her nightstand, which are grief worksheets in disguise.
I also bought her storybooks about memory and healing.
I never ask if she reads them but I notice she slips them back into the drawer when she’s done. ”
“Smart.”
I glance down to make sure Jude’s occupied. “She opens up more when she thinks I’m not listening. Yesterday, she told Jude Daddy’s in the clouds. He watches them when they sleep.”
I can’t help it, my eyes well up. Swallowing, I push past it.
“And Jude?”
“He doesn’t seem to remember much anymore, so I’m grateful.
The sounds, the fear, it’s not stuck in his soul the way it is in theirs.
He’s resilient. He laughs with his whole body.
” I glance toward the living room at my precious boy, where his trains click together on the rug.
“He talks to Cooper like he’s here. Tells him about his day.
About cereal flavors. His favorite truck. I don’t correct him. I never will.”
God, how I love him. He’s exactly like his dad with his tousled dark curls, legs always in motion. He wears his joy in the bounce of his steps and the peanut butter on his shirt.
“I’m not trying to erase their grief,” I add. “I’m trying to help them carry it so it doesn’t break them. I want to give them tools I didn’t have.”
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You are.”
“I’m trying.” I squeeze back. “We talk about him all the time. I don’t pretend he didn’t exist. We say his name. Look at his pictures.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
While I appreciate my sister’s support, this isn’t about pride. Or accolades. It’s about necessity. I’m standing at the edge of a cliff with three children behind me and I’m the only adult shielding them from falling over.
Even if we have the support of my family, which we do. I have to be the one who protects us all.
I turn the page in my notebook and circle the word business.
“I’ve been thinking.” I glance at Joni. “Once the claims are settled, I’m paying off the house. Then I want to start an event planning business. Something small. Manageable. So I can work from home. I’ll build something to fit into our life, not the other way around.”
She arches a brow, “An event company?”
“I think so.” I nod. “Local. Boutique. Family-first. Maybe daytime corporate events so I can work when they’re at school. Nonprofits. I have the contacts and the experience. If this hadn’t happened I’d probably never have the guts to do it solo.”
Joni and I go back and forth about potential names for the business, and she’s midsentence when the back door opens with a soft clatter of keys. I hear the rustle of grocery bags. Then my mom’s familiar voice followed by Maureen’s Irish lilt.
We both glance toward the kitchen, eyes wide.
Neither of us move. I haven’t seen anyone in Padraig’s family since my mom’s birthday all those years ago.
Deliberately.
“Let me make you a sandwich,” my mom offers. “I’ll put a kettle on.”
“You’re an angel, so you are.”
“Oh please.” Mom snorts. “You’ve been running on fumes since Rory’s stroke. He’s doing better so take a load off.”
Maureen laughs, but it’s thin. “I’ve taken to pilfering biscuits from the rehab nurses’ lounge. I’m afraid they’ll catch me stealing their stash.”
Their laughter quiets.
“He’s making progress?” my mom asks gently.
“He’s stable.” Maureen exhales heavily. “Frustrated. In my mind he’s recovering faster than I could have hoped for. He’s nearly better than he was before. My boys have been incredible. I don’t think I’ve had more than a day alone since it happened.”
Joni shifts on the cushion, eyes flicking toward me.
I keep my gaze forward, locked on Jude, who’s coloring at the coffee table.
“Connor and Liam flew up right away,” Maureen continues. “Cillian and Seamus were already here. Brennan came up from the Valley a couple days later. They’ve all been committed to his recovery.” She pauses. “It’s meant everything.”
There’s silence. Mom prompts, “Padraig?”
My breath catches. Joni’s hand clutches mine.
“He’s in Los Angeles,” Maureen explains. “Mara went into labor early. Little Rafferty came a few weeks too soon. He’s doing well now but the NICU was touch-and-go at first.”
I blink, stunned. Mom never mentioned Padraig and his girlfriend were having a baby. Then again, I’ve been pretty out of it for the past six months.
Wow. Rafferty.
I picture a tiny boy with wavy black hair and Padraig’s quiet, brown eyes.
“Mara’s been struggling,” Maureen goes on. “Terrible postpartum depression. Bad enough her mum moved in to help.”
“Oh, Maureen…”
“It gets worse. She confessed something to Padraig which changed everything.” Maureen lowers her voice. “Apparently, she took her IUD out without letting him know. She got pregnant on purpose.”
Joni covers her mouth, wide-eyed.
I’m sure my expression mirrors hers. My stomach flips.
“She was scared he’d leave.” Heartbreak threads through every syllable Maureen utters. “He was going to break it off and she panicked.”
I’m utterly mortified we’re overhearing this conversation without them knowing we’re here.
“Jesus, what a terrible thing to do to him.” Mom sounds angry.
“He’s forgiven her. For the time being he’s staying for the wee lad, though they broke up,” Maureen adds after a pause. “He adores his son. You can see it in his face. He’s wrapped around that boy’s finger. But Mara…” Her voice catches. “She won’t be his wife.”
Something long-dormant aches behind my ribs.
“They’re coparenting,” she finishes. “He’s trying to convince her to move to Seattle. Her mom lives across the country and if they’re close to us we can help when Fireball is on tour. Give Rafferty roots. Hopefully, she’ll agree.”
My ears burn. Joni’s eyes flick toward mine, filled with concern about the thousand things I’m trying not to feel but are rushing through my body.
A thump breaks the silence. My head whips around toward the noise to find Jude splatted on the rug. His face scrunches up followed by a soft whimper. Then louder.
Now, full-blown crying.
Thankfully, he’s not hurt, only startled. I scoop him into my arms, heart hammering. as my mom steps into view. Her smile fades when she sees us in the living room, obviously realizing we overheard the entire conversation.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “We didn’t mean to eavesdrop—”
Maureen’s eyes meet mine, her expression unreadable at first. I haven’t seen her in years, but I feel it instantly. The love. The warmth. A knowing ache.
Suddenly, Maureen’s arms are strong around me, the soft wool of her jacket brushing my cheek. I don’t pull away.
When she finally steps back, she keeps her hands on my shoulders.
“How are you, love?” she asks gently. “Really.”
I try to answer, but the words knot in my throat.
“You don’t have to pretend. I’ve been through the kind of storm you can’t explain to anyone else.” She looks deep into my eyes so I’ll understand what she’s telling me.
I blink hard.
“I know Rory’s still here,” she continues. “But the man I married, he disappeared for a long time. Some days I look at him and wonder if he’s ever fully coming back.” She cups my cheek. “But I never had to bury him like you did, Stevie. Somehow, you’re standing and fighting for your wee ones.”
I swallow, the emotion catching at the base of my throat.
She leans in closer, her voice a whisper. “You would’ve been my daughter, had things gone differently. You always are, in my heart.”
My chest cracks open.
Maureen smiles, soft and sure. “And you always will be.”
I fall back into her arms without hesitation, letting the weight of everything settle between us.
It’s muscle memory, this kind of love. Like I’m seven again, running across the street after school, slipping into her kitchen with Padraig and Liam while she stirred stew and sang along to the radio.
Everything’s different now.
Except this.
The way she holds me. The way we understand each other without saying a word.
We’ve both been broken open. Reshaped by grief. Hardened by survival. Softened by love.
Mothers. Standing. Fighting.
Figuring it out one imperfect breath at a time.