Chapter 12
Kori
I sit stiffly in the backseat of the rental car, watching the Irish countryside blur past the window. The silence stretches uncomfortably until Wren clears her throat.
“So, Kori,” she says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror, “are you from Toronto?”
“Point Pelee Island originally. My family has a vineyard there,” I reply, grateful for the mundane question. “I’ve been living in Toronto for the past six years. Since meeting Mark.” His name tastes bitter on my tongue.
“The cheating husband?” Kat asks bluntly from the passenger seat.
Wren shoots her a look. “Subtle, Kat.”
“What? She already told Kane, and he tells us everything when he’s drunk.” Kat turns in her seat to face me. “Men are trash. Present company’s brothers and boyfriend, excluded. Usually.”
I can’t help but laugh at her frankness. “Rory,I take it, is your boyfriend? And yes, the cheating husband. With my sister, of all people.”
“Yes,” Kat nods. “We reluctantly fell in love.”
“That’s cold,” Wren says, navigating a sharp curve in the road. “Family betrayal hits differently.”
“You can say that again,” Kat mutters, and something in her tone makes me wonder what family betrayals she’s experienced.
“Hence the impromptu Irish vacation,” I explain. “I found out right before our anniversary party and just... ran.”
“Smart move,” Kat nods approvingly. “I would’ve stayed long enough to set his car on fire, but your way is probably healthier.”
“Definitely less likely to result in jail time,” Wren agrees.
I find myself relaxing as we chat. There’s something comforting about these women who talk about arson so casually. They don’t offer empty cliches like “everything is going to be okay” or tell me it will all work out. Instead, they validate my feelings.
“So, what’s your plan now?” Wren asks as we turn onto the gravel road leading to Wavecrest.
I stare at the cottage appearing on the horizon. “I don’t have one. Just... exist for a while, I guess. Figure out who I am when I’m not Mark’s wife.”
“That’s a plan,” Kat says firmly. “Sometimes you need to break everything down before you can rebuild.”
We pull up to the cottage, and I hesitate before getting out. “Thanks for the ride. And for not being weird about me finding Kane half-naked, buried in the sand.”
“Trust me,” Wren says with a wry smile, “that barely registers on the MacGallan weird scale.”
“Speaking of Kane,” Kat adds, her expression softening slightly, “he’s going to be a mess after today. Finding out your whole identity is a lie...” She shakes her head. “It’s a lot.”
I think of Kane’s face when they told him about his father, his sister. The shock, the betrayal, the flicker of something that looked like hope before anger replaced it.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I can’t imagine.”
“Take care of yourself, Kori,” Kat says as I step out of the car and grab the metal detector. “Ireland’s good for healing broken hearts. All that rain and beer.”
I wave as they drive away, then turn to face the empty cottage. The silence that greets me when I step inside is deafening after the drama of the day. I stand in the middle of the living room, suddenly feeling like I lost my best friend.
I realize something is different as I walk throughthe living room, headed towards the kitchen. A vase of flowers sits on the counter with a note. Mrs. O’Malley, bless her heart, had brought over a few groceries while I was out—bread, cheese, and some canned soup. I take down a pot and open the can, placing it on the stovetop. As I wait for the soup to heat, I replay the day’s events in my mind. Kane’s hand was gripping mine in that underground chamber, his knuckles white around the photograph of his mother.
The soup bubbles, and I pour it into a bowl, settling at the kitchen table to eat. The cottage creaks around me, old wood shifting in the wind coming off the sea. I’m alone again, just as I planned when I fled Toronto. So why do I feel so empty now?
∞∞∞
For three days, I dusted, vacuumed, and polished everything in the house until it sparkled, and I was exhausted. Not that the place needed such a deep clean, but I had to keep my mind busy. Thoughts of Kane were constantly on my mind, and it was driving me up the wall.
