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Alison had tried talking to her about what happened, but Cordelia couldn’t. She could no longer say the words out loud. She’d sent a cursory text to her mom and barely managed to get the whole story out to Liz over FaceTime.

Over the next two weeks, she felt like she’d been packed up in cotton. Her eyes itched all the time. Her chest was too tight. She couldn’t sleep.

She had not been prepared for this constant, aching loss. It was like half of her insides had been scooped out. Not even the promise of a new coffee table book, a second chance at her career, could soothe the jagged pain she felt with every stilted beat of her heart. She couldn’t find comfort in anything anymore, not photography, or her true crime books, or riding around in the cart with Róisín.

Niall was gone.

She stopped going into O’Connor’s. She couldn’t face the place without Niall in it—and Owen probably hated her for what she’d done. She went back to eating sad pasta alone in her front room. Once she’d tried to make an omelet and the memories it triggered were so brutal, she ended up sobbing on her kitchen floor. A hundred times a day, she would pick up her phone to text Niall. Or check to see if he had contacted her. But he never had and she never did.

She knew she would never hear from him again. She’d hurt him too badly. Why would he even want to talk to her? She’d eviscerated him and shoved him away. She hoped he was having fun in London. Not with Deirdre—no, she was far too selfish to hope for that. But she hoped things were going well. Róisín offered small morsels of information that Cordelia hoarded greedily.

Niall had arrived in London.

Niall had found a flat in Camden.

Niall had met with Ritchie Malcolm.

Niall was working on new menu items.

That was it. Four little details. Cordelia spun wild fantasies of him coming back to Inishmore, showing up at the cottage, declaring their love more important than anything else in this world. But he’d already declared that, and she had pushed him away! There was no one to blame for this but herself. She deserved every ounce of misery.

The night before she was set to leave Inishmore and head back to New York, Alison and Róisín came over. Alison made a chicken curry, the small kitchen filling with the smell of cumin and coriander—it only made Cordelia feel miserable. The scents and sounds of cooking were like their own special pain. Róisín pressed a glass of whiskey into Cordelia’s hand.

“Now,” she said. “I’d like to give a toast. When you first showed up here, girlie, I don’t think it comes as a surprise to anyone that I wasn’t too keen on the idea.”

“Weren’t you, Gran?” Alison said. “Gosh, what a shocker.”

Róisín grinned at her. “But I’ve got to say, Cordie, it’s been a mighty pleasure getting to know you this summer. And I do hope you’ll not be a stranger. The whole island would love to have you back.”

Cordelia wasn’t so sure about that—she imagined Niall’s parents weren’t her biggest fans. She hadn’t seen either of them since Niall had left.

“That we would,” Alison said, raising her own tumbler. “And please do keep in touch, Cord.”

“I will,” Cordelia said, feeling the emptiness of the promise. “You’ve both been so wonderful.” Her throat squeezed up. “I’ll miss you guys.”

Cordelia felt this horrible tug-of-war going on inside her. On the one hand, she couldn’t wait to get off of Inishmore, to leave behind all the memories of Niall. On the other hand, those memories were all she had. She loved this island, more than she had ever thought she would way back when she arrived in June. So much had changed so quickly. Cordelia wanted to run to her bed and hide under the covers until her life righted itself again.

But life doesn’t right itself on its own. She was the master of her own fate, just like Niall was of his. She had to move forward, as much as she didn’t want to.

A few people came to see her off on the ferry the next day—Darragh and Brogan, Aoife and Fergus. And, to Cordelia’s great surprise, Fiona and Colin and Pocket. Fiona didn’t look the least bit angry with her—instead, she pulled Cordelia in for a hug.

“I packed you some food for the train,” she said, pressing a warm paper bag into Cordelia’s hand.

“Fiona, I—” Cordelia began, but Fiona shushed her.

“You take care of yourself now,” she said, tears in her eyes.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Colin said, giving her one of his big bear hugs.

“I won’t,” Cordelia said.

Pocket nuzzled at her hand and she scratched the dog behind her ears.

“You’ve all been such wonderful friends,” she said. “Thank you so much for—well, for treating me like family.”

She got on the ferry and nearly broke down again, the memory of her first meeting with Niall all those months ago suddenly as clear and sharp as if it were yesterday. She stowed her bag and sank into her seat, the rain picking up just as the ferry pulled away from the harbor. Pocket ran down the pier, barking like mad. Cordelia pressed her hand to the window.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.