Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
A isling gripped the edge of the doorway, her knuckles whitening with the pressure.
For one insane moment, she thought about telling him to get out. Pretending this wasn’t happening. Unmistakably, the same man she remembered from that disastrous meeting in New York.
But she didn't move. Because too many questions clawed inside her. Too many cracks demanded answers.
Wordlessly, she stepped back and motioned him to come into the living room.
The front door creaked open, and she spun around. Michael stepped inside, his face a mask of false calm.
“Get the hell out,” Aisling snapped, voice sharp as broken glass. “We’re done. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Michael’s brow furrowed, but instead of leaving, his gaze drifted past her. He squinted. “Wait a second... I know you. You’re that author.”
Patrick’s emerald eyes hardened to stone as he stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. “You heard her. Leave. And if I ever hear you've come near her after today, you’ll never work in publishing again. Are we clear?”
Michael paled, his bravado cracking. He took an uncertain step backward and looked at Aisling as if expecting her to intervene.
She smiled coldly. “You heard him. Get out, or I’ll call the Garda. And trust me—I won’t hesitate.”
Michael paused just a beat too long, then let out a resigned breath and turned on his heel, leaving the door wide open.
Outside, the goat let out a defiant baa . Aisling hoped it chased him all the way to the main road.
She shut the door with finality, threw the bolt, and turned back to Patrick—her breath still caught somewhere between relief and rage.
“Sorry about that. He just showed up out of the blue,” she said. Kinda like you …she wanted to add.
“Hopefully, he won’t bother you again,” he said.
Patrick Wright crossed into the room, hesitant, his weathered hands wringing the cap between them. His face looked like a map of regrets, every line carved by mistakes he couldn't undo. His emerald eyes, so much like her own, darted around the room, not quite able to meet hers.
“You’ve really changed your grandmother’s house,” he said.
He’d been here before. Of course, he had. Her mother must have brought him here to meet Noreen at some point.
"So," she said, arms folding tightly across her chest, holding herself together. "You finally decided to show up.”
Patrick flinched, the words hitting their mark.
"I deserve worse," he said, his voice rough and thick with guilt.
"You're damn right, you do.” Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. "You left. You abandoned us. You abandoned me. "
He nodded, swallowing hard like every syllable ripped at him.
"I did," he said quietly. "And I will regret it every day for the rest of my life."
Aisling stared at him, heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to scream. To throw something. To weep. Instead, she stood there, frozen, daring him to lie to her face. So he had abandoned them. She had just assumed and wanted him to deny it, but the truth was much worse than fiction.
"Why did you come?” she asked, her voice sharp. "Guilt? Curiosity? Some pathetic stab at redemption?"
Patrick exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand through his graying hair.
"No," he said. “When I received your email, I decided it was time for you to know the truth. And I wanted us to talk in person. Not over email or a phone.”
Oh, how she’d longed to know the truth for so many years, but was his version the real one?
“Which is?”
“I didn’t know about you."
The world tilted slightly beneath her feet.
"Don't lie to me," she whispered.
"I’m not," he said, stepping forward, voice cracking. "When I left Ireland, the plan was for me to tell my wife I wanted a divorce and then return to Maeve. When I got back to New York, I learned that my wife was pregnant again—our third child. I already have two little boys. I couldn’t leave them, Aisling. Even though...I loved your mother with every ounce of my being. I even sent her an engagement ring to prove to her that I was serious about us starting our life together.”
The words gutted her.
“I found your ring and your letter. I don’t think Noreen ever gave them to my mother.”
With a sigh, he shook his head. “That makes sense. Noreen hated me.”
Aisling nodded. “You were a married man who’d gotten her daughter pregnant.”
He wiped his face with his hand.
She pointed to the sofa. “Sit down.”
Not wanting to be close to him, she sank down into a chair across from the couch.
"I went home," Patrick continued, his shoulders sagging with the weight of it. "I stayed and tried to be a good husband. Tried to be a good father. And when Maeve came to New York...she didn’t tell me she was pregnant. When she learned I was staying in my marriage, she ended things. Cut me out of her life forever. She refused to be second in my life.”
Aisling shook her head, fury and heartbreak swirling inside her chest.
"You didn’t ever wonder about her?” she demanded.
"I did," he said hoarsely. "God help me, I did. But she made it clear I wasn't welcome as long as I was married. And...I thought...maybe she hated me enough to erase me. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to return to Ireland and find her. I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed of seeing her again.”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the years of grief etched deep into his face.
"I was wrong," he whispered. "So wrong to never consider that we might have created a child together.”
Tears burned at Aisling’s throat, but she forced them back. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Years passed," Patrick said, voice barely above a rasp. "My marriage fell apart anyway. We divorced after the kids were grown. I thought about coming back here. I thought about her every day."
He shook his head, his voice thick with emotion.
"And then...right before Maeve died, she sent me a letter. Told me about you. About everything. It devastated me. Not only had I lost the love of my life, but I had a child, a daughter who didn’t know me. A daughter who probably hated me.”
Aisling swayed slightly as if the ground under her shifted.
"She said she was scared," Patrick continued. "Ashamed. That she hadn’t wanted to trap me. That she'd thought she was protecting you."
He wiped at his eyes quickly, almost angrily.
"I was too late," he said. "Too damn late."
"And you still didn’t reach out," Aisling whispered bitterly. "You just...what? Forgot about me again?"
"No," he said fiercely. "I tried. But how do you walk into someone’s life after abandoning them before they even knew you existed?"
He paused, the silence roaring between them.
"And then," he said, voice dropping even lower, "you emailed me."
The air between them crackled.
"I saw your name on that business email," he said. "O’Byrne. It knocked the breath out of me. I knew. I knew before I even opened it. But you wanted us to do business. Not that you were telling me you knew I was your father.”
Aisling closed her eyes against the sting of tears.
"I planned to tell you that day," Patrick said, taking a careful step closer. “I wasn’t there because of your company. I was there for you. As soon as we settled into the conference room, I was going to tell you my real reason for being there. I had it all rehearsed. I was going to explain everything. Beg for your forgiveness."
Her heart twisted painfully.
"But then," he said, his voice breaking, "I saw the fire in your eyes. The strength in your spine. I saw you tear down those two people who hurt you.”
He swallowed hard.
"And, Aisling...I was so damn proud of you. Watching you that day made me feel so proud of the woman you had become. It reminded me of Maeve. And it gut-wrenched me that I couldn’t tell you. But it wasn’t the right time.”
Her breath caught.
"You didn’t need saving," Patrick said, eyes shining. "You weren’t broken. You were fierce. You were magnificent. And I realized...it wasn’t about me. That day was yours. It wasn’t the moment to burden you with my failures."
She could see the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes.
"You are everything your mother dreamed you'd be," he said hoarsely. "And more."
The lump in her throat was unbearable. She turned away, blinking furiously, but it was no use. A tear slid down her cheek, betraying her.
"I’m sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. What started as a summer love affair, turned into a love that destroyed me as a man. If I had known about you, I would have been a father to you. Nothing would have stopped me from being in your life.”
For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them moved.
Finally, Aisling found her voice, ragged and raw.
"I don't know if I can forgive you," she said. "I don’t know if I even want to."
Patrick didn’t flinch.
"I don't expect it," he said. "But if you’ll let me...I want to try. I want to be here. In whatever way you’ll allow."
She turned slowly to face him, her hands trembling at her sides.
"And your other children?" she asked bitterly. "Do they know I exist?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. I need time. To tell them properly. To explain. They deserve that much."
The honesty in his voice, the raw pleading in his eyes, twisted something deep inside her.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.
"You don’t have to decide today," Patrick said gently. "Or tomorrow. I’ll wait. As long as it takes."
Standing, he stepped forward slowly as if afraid she might bolt.
"When you're ready," he said, his voice cracking, "I'll be here."
Aisling stared at him, all the anger, all the heartbreak warring inside her chest.
Years of loneliness. Of wondering. Of never quite belonging. Of being the child without a father.
And now, this man—her father—standing before her, not asking for absolution, but simply asking for a chance.
The weight of it crushed her.
"I need time," she said again, her voice breaking.
Patrick nodded. “I’m going to be here for a week. I want to visit some colleagues in Dublin. But I’ll give you all the time in the world. Aisling, I want to be your father. To walk you down the aisle, be a grandfather to your children. To make up for all the time we lost when you were a child.”
Without another word, he turned and walked to the door. At the threshold, he paused, looking back at her one last time.
"I love you, Aisling," he said quietly. "I have from the moment I learned about you. I just didn’t know how to find you. I’m so proud to call you my daughter.”
Then he stepped out into the misty Irish evening, leaving her alone in the quiet house, staring after him with her heart splintered wide open.