This is my suggestion: you open a bank account where I can deposit cash to help support you and Aisling for the rest of your days.
Wishing you well,
Fionn
“I take it there are other letters that support this?” I cock a brow and look up at Beretta.
“Yes, all of these letters go over when Fionn sent deposits, him checking in on your grandmother and mother, all of it.”
“Perfect. Thank you,” I say as I dig my hand into my suit jacket and hand Beretta a wad of cash.
“Ah, the money. Awesome. Is there anything else you need me to do?” Beretta asks, and there’s a long moment where I debate it. I’ve always wondered if there was foul play involved, but I never actually had anyone follow the lead. My birth mother was a drug addict, and I know it. It’s one of the horrible truths my father told me when I was old enough to understand.
“My mother died on this day eleven years ago. I want you to look into the circumstances surrounding her death. I know there’s a good chance it could’ve been a typical overdose, but I want you to turn over every stone and find out for sure.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
CHAPTER SIX
MIA
My stomach rolls repeatedly, and nausea runs through my body. I’ve just gotten into my flat, and I press my shoulders against the back of my door. How in the world have I managed to run into Cillian of all people? For fuck’s sake, I’m in another country. If I was going to run into him on the street, I figured it would be back home in Italy.
I kick off my shoes and set my purse down, then go straight into my kitchen, open my wine fridge and pull out a bottle. I need a glass, stat. I rummage through my drawers, find a wine cork and then open the bottle. It takes me hardly any time to find a glass and pour myself a decent serving.
Still, the mere fact Cillian’s in Belfast hasn’t fully sunken in. Why is he here? Does he live here too? Fuck, I sure hope not. I bring the white wine to my lips and take a sip. The dry cherry hints float over my tastebuds and offer me a moment of solitude. Though, I was hoping for more.
I stare down at the goblet of wine and chug the rest of my glass. Still, the emptiness in my stomach is here. My heart aches as memories come floating into my mind.
Our baby crying. The doctors telling me about her heart condition. The fact Cillian wasn’t around, that I was dealing with losing her by myself. He knew I could’ve been pregnant when he broke up with me. We’d just talked about it the week before, and I agreed to take a test two weeks later, just to give myself a bit more time before finding out for sure.
Still, he called things off between us, and I gave birth to our daughter. Our little girl, who was barely in this world for three weeks. She fought every second of every day, and she was beautiful. Her name was Filomena. My stepfather helped me name her, helped me find a name that represented strength. He was my rock through her birth and losing her afterward. He offered to do whatever he could to give her a fighting chance because even though we aren’t blood, my daughter was his granddaughter.
I stare at the wine glass with a bit of liquid still in the goblet and throw it at the floor in complete outrage. Glass hits the cupboards and shatters across the floor. I slump to the ground as my heart feels like it’s swelling to the point it’s going to burst from heartache.
I hate him for what he did, for what he made me go through alone. I hate him so much I could kill him with my bare hands. He promised to always be there for me, and then he left. He didn’t honor his promise.
My phone begins to trill in my purse, so I force myself up and go over to it. I scan over the contact and see it’s my stepfather. Clearing my throat, I tap the green button and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello.”
“Hello dear, are you all right? You sound a bit bothered.” I’ve never been able to hide my feelings from this man. He’s always seen right through me.
“I’m fine. It’s just been a rough day. I’ve been thinking about Filomena quite a bit.”
“Mmm, I’m sorry. Grief is a funny thing, you know. Even after all these years, your mother and I find ourselves missing your darling angel too. Know you aren’t alone. Your family is here to support you, always.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip as silent tears slide down my cheeks. “Thank you, so, um . . . why are you calling?”