Epilogue
3 years later
Gray stood in front of the headstone, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and cut grass. The cemetery was quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves as a breeze wove through the trees. He had come alone, as he always did. The plot was well-tended, the grass trimmed neatly around the base of the stone.
Until We Meet Again
Aisling O'Brien
Beloved Mother and Grandmother
He knelt, one hand restin' gently on the grave, the other settin' down a bouquet of wildflowers—her favourites. He exhaled slowly, watchin' as the sun broke through the thick grey clouds, castin' light over the stone.
"Hey, Mam," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "It's been a while."
For a moment, he simply sat there, starin' at her name. It still felt unreal sometimes. He wished she could've met Niamh, held her just once. He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the new strands of grey that had crept in. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepened when he smiled, though there was no one here to see it.
"Things are changin'," he continued. "Cadi an' I—well, you'd like to hear that we're doin' good. There's Tomos, of course. He's nine now. Still rugby mad, might even be a star like his uncle Byron. An' maybe a bit sweet on his friend Sarah—don't know if I should be worried about that or not." He chuckled dryly, shakin' his head.
He sighed. "An' then there's our little wonder, Niamh. She's three now. A hellion, that one. Got all of us wrapped 'round her tiny little finger. She's got bright eyes—just like yours. Just like mine. An' she's got Cadi's sunset hair, a little wild, always fallin' in her face. Every mornin', she insists I braid it for her, won't let anyone else do it. I've gotten damn good at it too—YouTube tutorials an' all."
He let out a short laugh. "Tomos, on the other hand, has decided he wants to grow his hair out now—wants a 'manbun.' Huh. Cadi thinks it's hilarious."
He leaned forward slightly, tracin' his mother's name on the stone with his fingertips. "I wish you could've met them. Wish you could've met her."
The wind shifted, rufflin' his hair as he fell silent. After a moment, he closed his eyes an' inhaled deeply, then exhaled, groundin' himself.
"Still in therapy," he admitted softly. "It helps. I just—I wish it had helped you. Maybe things could've been different. Maybe you wouldn't have carried all that weight alone."
He stayed there for a long while, lost in thought, before finally shiftin'. His expression hardened slightly as he thought about Callum. "I met her. Callum's mother. She's frail now, barely able to speak. Parkinsonism. She held my hand, begged for forgiveness." He swallowed, starin' down at the grave. "An' I gave it. 'Cause I know—it's what you would've wanted, Mam."
His throat tightened, an' he let out a slow breath. "I still can't forgive Callum. Not yet. But we all don't have infinite time, so I'll try. An' I understand why you kept things from me, too. You were protectin' me, just like mothers do. If it were me—if it were Tomos—I'd do the same. I'd shield him from the ugliness, no matter what it cost me. I just hope he never finds out that, for a time, I doubted he was mine. An' Cadi—she'd never tell him. She'd protect him from that."
His fingers curled into the damp grass, then relaxed. A faint breeze tickled his hair like a ghostly hand, bringin' the smell of rain with it. There was a storm comin'.
Gray sat there for a long time, feelin' the memories of the years settle over him, not as a burden, but as somethin' that happened—not the nightmare that ruled his life. He wasn't fightin' against it anymore, wasn't drownin' in it. He'd built somethin' from it. A family. A life.
He exhaled an' rubbed a hand over his face. "I've been doin' more sports-related injuries, developin' a niche—shoulder surgery, mostly. A lot of rugby players. Makes sense, right? I like the work. Feels good to be needed like that."
He glanced back up at the sky, where the sun was fully breakin' through now, bathin' the grave in warmth. "I should go. Cadi'll be waitin'. Tomos has trainin', an' I'd bet good money Niamh's terrorizin' her latest nanny by now. The last one found a caterpillar in her shoe and quit."
He stood, brushin' the dirt off his knees. "I'll be back, Mam."
With one last look at the headstone, Gray turned an' walked away, the sun at his back.
Extra chapter
Callum sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand over his tired face as the early morning light seeped through the curtains. Yorkshire had been a fresh start, but ghosts had a way of following, settling into the cracks of his life. He had made peace with a lot of things—or at least, he told himself he had. But guilt was a stubborn thing, burrowing deep into his bones.
His mother was declining. Slowly, painfully. The once-formidable woman was now a frail shadow, Parkinsonism stealing more from her every day. He visited as often as he could, holding her papery hands, watching as she tried and failed to form words. The last time, she had gripped his fingers tightly, tears rolling down her face, as if she still carried the weight of their shared secrets. He had told her it was alright. That it didn't matter anymore. But they both knew that wasn't true.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen—Cadi. She called now and then, always polite, never the friend she had once been. But they both knew why she still called.
He swiped to answer. "Mornin', Cadi."
"Morning, Callum. How's your mum?"
"Same. Worse." He sighed. "Thanks for askin'."
"Of course." A pause. "Tomos wants to talk to you. If you have time?"
His chest ached at that. "Always."
There was a shuffle, then Tomos' bright voice filled the receiver. "Uncle Callum!"
Callum's lips lifted in the first genuine smile of the morning. "Hey, lad! What's the craic?"
"Ma's making me tie my hair back. It's stupid."
Callum chuckled. "Aye, that's rough. What happened to that 'manbun' dream, eh?"
Tomos groaned. "I'm workin' on it. But she says it gets in my eyes when I play. And Da says I look like a lost Viking."
Callum laughed. "That's not the worst thing in the world. You'll be scarin' defenders off the pitch in no time."
"That's what I said! But Mum just gave me the look."
"Ah, the look. Can't argue with the look."
Tomos huffed. "Anyway, are you comin' to my birthday this year?"
Callum hesitated, gripping the bedsheet. "Dunno, lad. That's..."
"It's okay," Tomos cut in quickly, like he didn't want to make things awkward. "Just thought I'd ask."
Callum swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll try, yeah?"
"Okay! Gotta go! Mum's givin' me another look."
"Right. Behave yourself."
"Never!" Tomos declared before the call ended.
Callum stared at the phone for a moment before setting it aside. These conversations were the highlight of his day. The one connection that still felt real.
After showering and dressing, he stopped by his usual coffee shop on the way to work. The barista, a shy university student, lit up when she saw him.
"Americano, no sugar, right?" she asked, her cheeks tinged pink.
He blinked, then smiled. "That's right."
She rang him up, and he handed her a few extra coins. "Keep the change."
"Oh—thank you!" she stammered, flustered.
As he walked out, he felt something odd—lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, things weren't so bleak.
His phone buzzed again. A number he hadn't seen in years but had never been able to delete.
Gray.
His breath caught. His hand shook slightly as he lifted the phone to his ear. "Gray?"
There was a pause. Then a gruff, familiar voice. "We're planning a party. Tomos made it to the junior rugby training league. He wants you to come."
Callum closed his eyes. Hope flickered in the dark corners of his mind.
"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "I'd like that."