Page 185 of The Thief
I kiss her then, soft and desperate. Tasting hope and fear and the future we're trying to build together.
"Freddie," she says against my lips.
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow. When we go see your father. Will you be okay?"
The question makes my stomach clench. Tomorrow. The visit I've been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
"I don't know," I admit. "It's been years since I've seen him. Years since I've wanted to."
"But you want to see him now?"
"I want you to meet him. I want him to know that I found something worth protecting, something that makes all the violence and chaos worthwhile."
"And if he doesn't approve?"
"Then that's his loss. But I think he will. It’s hard not to love you once you get to know you."
She smiles, it’s the first real smile I've seen from her since the funeral.
"Come on," she says, taking my hand. "Let's go to bed. Tomorrow's going to be complicated enough without facing it tired."
We climb the stairs together, and I think about how much has changed in just a few months. From a broken man carrying ghosts to this purpose, family, love that feels strong enough to survive anything the world throws at us.
Jer would be proud of where I've ended up. Of the choices I've made, the woman I've found, the life I'm building.
Tomorrow, I'll face my father; introduce him to the woman who saved me from myself. Tonight, I'll hold her close and be grateful for second chances.
For the possibility that even in a world built on violence and betrayal, love can still win.
The next morning dawns gray and cold—typical Irish weather for visiting prisons. Tríona's nervous—I can see it in the way she checks her appearance three times before we leave, the way her hands shake slightly as she applies lipstick.
"It'll be fine," I tell her as we drive through Dublin.
"Will it? Meeting the father of the man I love in a maximum-security prison isn't exactly a normal relationship milestone."
"Nothing about our relationship has been normal."
"Fair point."
Mountjoy Prison looms ahead, all concrete walls and razor wire. Not the most romantic setting for introductions, but it's what we have.
At the visitors' entrance, we go through the usual routine; metal detectors, paperwork, the careful inspection of everything we're carrying. Tríona handles it with more grace than I expected, though I can see the tension in her shoulders.
"You sure about this?" I ask as we wait to be called.
"Are you?"
"Yeah. I am. Whatever else he is, he's still my father. And you're the most important person in my life. Seems like you should meet."
When they call our names, we follow a guard through a series of locked doors into the visiting room. Standard setup; rows of tables, plastic chairs, vending machines along one wall. The kind of place where families try to maintain connections across concrete barriers and under armed supervision.
My father's already seated at a corner table when we enter. He looks older than I remember, grayer, but still carries himself with the quiet dignity that got him respect even inside these walls.
He stands when he sees us approaching, and for a moment we just look at each other. Father and son, separated by years of choices and consequences.
"Freddie," he says, voice rough with emotion.
