Page 188 of The Thief
The blackbird takes flight, disappearing into the gray Dublin sky.
"Freddie will be a good father. I know that probably seems impossible to believe, given what he does for a living, but you saw how gentle he could be. How protective. He's got that same quiet strength you had."
I lean back against the bench, letting the peace of this place settle over me. It's strange how cemeteries can feel so alive sometimes. All that love and memory concentrated in one space, all those stories continuing even after the storytellers are gone.
"Stephen and Freddie have been working on security for the new house. Motion sensors, cameras, panic rooms, the whole works. Sometimes I think they've forgotten that Trace is dead, that the immediate threat is gone." I smile despite myself. "But I suppose old habits die hard with men like them."
The baby—our baby—is still just a cluster of cells, too small to show, too new to feel real. But already I love them fiercely. Already I'm terrified of all the ways this world could hurt them.
"I'm scared, Granddad," I admit quietly. "Scared I won't be good enough. Scared something will happen to Freddie and I'll be raising this child alone. Scared they'll grow up in violence the way their father did."
But even as I voice the fears, I know they won't paralyze me. Henry taught me that love is stronger than fear, that family protects family no matter the cost. He proved it with his life.
"I miss you," I whisper. "Every day. But especially today, when I have news that would have made you so happy."
I sit with him for another hour, telling him about small things. The kind of everyday details that make up a life, the things Henry always said mattered more than any business deal or territory dispute.
When I finally stand to leave, I place my hand on the headstone one last time.
"I love you, Granddad. Thank you for giving me a family. Thank you for showing me what it means to belong somewhere."
The drive home takes me through the center of Dublin, past the Liffey and the old buildings that have watched this city change for centuries. Home. When did I start thinking of Dublin as home instead of Belfast?
Probably the moment I realized I had people here worth staying for.
I park in the driveway and take a moment to study the house that will soon be ours. Red brick with white trim, bay windows that catch the afternoon light, a front garden that needs work but has good bones. Freddie says he chose it because it reminded him of the house he grew up in before everything went wrong.
The front door opens before I can reach it.
"Hey," Freddie says, pulling me into his arms the moment I cross the threshold. "How was your visit?"
"Good. I told him about the house."
"What did he think?"
"I think he approved. He always said family should stick together."
Freddie holds me tighter, understanding without words that visiting Henry's grave is always emotional for me. That I come back needing comfort, needing to be reminded that I'm not alone in this world.
"I love you," he murmurs against my hair.
"I love you too. So much."
And I do. More than I thought possible, more than feels safe in our dangerous world. But Henry taught me that love without risk isn't really love at all; it's just convenience dressed up in pretty words.
"Stephen finished installing the cameras upstairs," Freddie says as we move into the sitting room. "He says we should be ready to move in by next week."
"That fast?"
"The man's efficient when he wants to be. Plus, Jessica's been nagging him about getting started on the nursery."
I freeze. "The nursery?"
Freddie pulls back to look at my face, confused by my reaction. "For when we have kids. Jessica's convinced it's just a matter of time before we start a family."
My heart pounds against my ribs. This is it; the moment I've been both anticipating and dreading since I saw those two pink lines yesterday morning.
"Freddie," I say carefully. "We need to talk."
