Page 187 of The Thief
Peace. Resolution. The knowledge that some broken things can be repaired, some relationships can survive even the worst mistakes.
"I like him," Tríona says as we reach the car.
"Yeah?"
"He loves you. Really loves you. You can see it in how he looks at you, how proud he is of who you've become."
I don't answer. While I'm willing to try and build some semblance of a relationship, the man lost himself somewhere along the way and became someone I didn't recognize. He's back to the man I knew and loved. Now time will tell if he'll stay that way.
As we drive away from Mountjoy Prison, I think about legacy. About the men who shaped me; my father and Jer. About the lessons they taught and the examples they set.
About the future Tríona and I are building together, one choice at a time.
It's not the life I planned, but it's the life I want. Full of love and loyalty and the promise that some things—family, honor, connection—are worth every risk.
Worth everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
alastríona
Three Months Later
Three months. That's how long it's been since Henry died protecting me from Trace Harrington's madness. Three months since I watched my grandfather fall, since I held a knife with shaking hands and wondered if I was strong enough to survive what was coming.
Some days it feels like yesterday. Others, like a lifetime ago.
Today, as I walk through the cemetery carrying fresh flowers, it feels like both.
I know the way by heart now; I come at least once a week.
Henry's grave is in the newer section, but you wouldn't know it from the quality of the stone. Black granite with gold lettering, simple but elegant. Exactly what he would have wanted.
Henry Michael Gallagher, Beloved Grandfather, Father, Leader 1941-2025
I place the white roses at the base of the headstone—his favorites, according to Denis—and settle onto the small stone bench Freddie had installed last month. He said I needed somewhere to sit while I talked to Henry. That standing for an hour every week would get uncomfortable.
He was right. He usually is about things like that.
"Hello, Granddad," I say quietly, using the name I never got to call him while he was alive. "Sorry I'm a day late this week. Things have been busy."
The wind rustles through the trees overhead, and I like to think it's his way of telling me he understands. That he's listening, wherever he is.
"Freddie bought us a house," I continue, smoothing my skirt over my knees. "A proper house, not just a safe house or hotel suite. It's about ten minutes from Stephen and Jessica's place, which I know you'd approve of. Security is important and all that."
I pause, watching a blackbird hunt for worms in the soft earth nearby.
"It's beautiful—the house. Victorian, with a garden that Jessica says will be perfect for..." I stop and take a breath. This is why I'm here today. Why I needed to tell him first, before anyone else.
"I'm pregnant, Granddad."
The words feel strange in my mouth. Real but surreal, like speaking a foreign language I'm still learning.
"I found out yesterday. Freddie doesn't know yet. I wanted to tell you first. It seemed important that you should know, even if..." My voice catches. "Even if you can't meet them."
A tear slides down my cheek, but it's not entirely sad. There's joy mixed in with the grief, hope alongside the loss.
"I think you would have loved being a great-grandfather again. You were so good with Holly and the younger ones. Always patient, always interested in their stories." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "I wish they could have known you. This baby. Our baby."
