Warning: Explicit and potentially triggering material. Reader discretion advised.

The Manchester Arena dressing room was illuminated by a lone lamp next to the small sofa, where monitor engineer Isabel awoke from her ill-timed nap to find that only fifty minutes remained until the start of the show. Pentoniac’s tenth-anniversary tour was in full swing, a celebration of the band’s breakneck, crazy, sentimental journey to the top of the pop charts. From ebullient fans to censorious critics to the general public, everyone agreed that the much-hyped world tour was bigger than any entertainment extravaganza in recent history.

She had just put on her dress for the evening when there was a knock on the door. Her heart thudded. She prayed that it would not be her husband.

“Hi, Auntie Emily.” She stepped aside to let Ben’s mother enter. “I didn’t know you were going to be at today’s show.”

“I didn’t either.” Closing the door behind her, Emily looked at Isabel’s face. “But I had a rare day off from work, so I headed over to see all of you.”

Isabel picked up her earrings from the vanity and sat on the sofa as she put them on. “Is Elsa here too?” she asked.

“No, she went home to be with her mother.” Emily came to sit beside her niece. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily smiled. “I’m a psychologist, Isabel Foley. I recognise the signs of marital strife with my eyes closed.”

Isabel pulled air into her tight lungs. She and Brandon were the model couple to the world— attractive, compatible, inseparable, madly in love. She had lost count of the times she heard people say, ‘I want what they have’. They were unabashedly open with their affections in public, Brandon was still as smitten with her as he had been ten years ago, and insiders knew they were incapable of keeping their hands off each other.

And now, standing on the brink of a new chapter, her heart was breaking to realise that all fairytales had flaws.

Maybe he knew better than to believe the words she had spoken in haste the other day. Or perhaps he thought she needed time to accept their new reality. But either way, the silences between them had been stretching like a tightrope, a cold, grim chasm opening in their happy marriage of over three years. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed. And her perceptive aunt had.

Almost inexplicably, a surge of courage rose within her.

“Did you have abuse in your family growing up?” she asked coolly. Emily stiffened, the smallest of frowns appearing between her eyebrows.

“”What kind of question is that?” she gasped.

“The kind that you have never wanted to answer.”

“The show is in thirty minutes. Shouldn’t you—”

“You’re not going to answer me, are you?”

Emily’s shoulders tensed. “I don’t like to talk about my family.”

“Your family is my family too.” Isabel countered. “Why shouldn’t I know what it was like growing up with my mother for a sister?”

Isabel gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Please. I need to know.”

After a moment’s consideration, Emily acquiesced. “My father…” she began quietly. “Our father. Your grandfather. He was a drunkard.”

“And a violent man?”

She nodded. “He was unimaginably brutal to our mother. God knows how many times she needed to go to the hospital after he left her battered.”

Emily’s face hung low. “So she left him, and started raising us on her own. The problem was that Ellen and I were two opposite personalities. I recognised that Dad was a savage bastard and had always wronged Mum. Ellen failed to see that. She sided with Dad, thought he was right in beating up our mother. Believed that she deserved it.”

“Did he ever hit you?”

“Occasionally. He was milder towards Ellen because she was just like him. Whenever I defended Mum, he flew off the handle. He broke my nose once.”

Isabel swallowed audibly. “So it wasn’t entirely my mother’s fault that she turned out to be violent.”

“Maybe things would have been different had she not met your father,” Emily replied. “But he was also a violent man, and Ellen had believed all her life that violence was right. It was a match made in hell.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She died the year you were born.”

Sagging back in the settee, Isabel closed her eyes. “So violence runs in our blood,” she remarked, folding her arms around herself to soothe the goosebumps. “It goes from generation to generation.”

“No. It wasn’t passed on to me.”

“Because you had one good parent at least. But both of my parents were monsters.”

“Izzi, why are we talking about this?” Emily sighed. “Why the sudden interest in my history?”

“I’m pregnant,” Isabel blurted hoarsely. “That’s why.”

Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the spark of surprised joy on Emily’s face. She held both of her hands.

“Oh, my dear girl.” She pulled her into an embrace. “That is wonderful.”

Isabel bit her lip. Their love had come to fruition, unannounced and unplanned, right in the middle of Pentoniac’s biggest world tour. And then she had stumbled upon the nasty shock.

“I found the letter,” Isabel admitted against her ear. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

She had accidentally discovered it among Emily’s mail when the wind knocked down the pile from the table. It was a short letter, no more than three paragraphs, and ending with a seal of Her Majesty’s Prison Service. Her mother was dying and wanted to see her one last time.

Isabel remembered her mother, every sordid inch of her. The hollow, stoney eyes, the dark, cracked lips with a cigarette between them, the calloused, ruthless hands that rained blows on her at the slightest provocation, the cold voice that loved to repeat ‘you little bitch’ as she dragged her down the stairs.

The little bitch that was now on the verge of motherhood.

“You’ve been in touch with my parents for all these years?” she asked. Emily withdrew her arms.

“Not really, but I do send some money every once in a while to Ellen’s commissary account, and I also did the same for your father until–”

Isabel looked at her face. “Until?”

Emily inhaled sharply. “He died in prison, three years ago. Your uncle and I got him interred and buried.”

“How long does my mother have to live?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I want to honour her last wish.”

Emily’s face lost colour. “Are you out of your mind?”

Isabel held the arm of the sofa and pushed herself onto her feet, her head swaying momentarily.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the vanity. “Afraid I’m going to be a terrible mother. Afraid that history is going to keep repeating itself.”

“No… no, no.” Emily came up to her and held her arms. “You were an innocent child, too pure for this world. It wasn’t your fault that you were born to people who destroyed you with their cruelty.”

“It’s the same blood, the same genes. I…” Her voice broke. “I told Brandy that I’m not fit to be a mother, that it’s better if my bloodline doesn’t continue after me.”

“That is a very big thing to say.” Emily shook her head. “A very cruel thing to say to a first-time dad, a man who loves you beyond all reason. I remember you always wanted a family with Brandon. The urge only grew deeper after Nathan’s twins came. So what happened now?”

“I’ve only run from my ghosts all this time…” She said on a heaving breath. “Never got rid of them.”

“Your past has never defined your future, Isabel. You’re gentle, you’re kind, you’ve come a long way…” Emily’s eyes welled up. “Please don’t do this to yourself. That letter does not concern you, alright? We told them that you cannot do it. End of story.”

“The story won’t end until I have found closure.”

“But you’re pregnant. If Brandy learns about your plans, he will be very upset. And I don’t even want to think of what might happen if Ben finds out.”

“They don’t have to know.”

“You’re going to hide it from Brandy?”

A familiar voice in the corridor caught their attention. Isabel walked to the door, and sure enough, it was Brandon, in a black suit and gloves, sunglasses dangling from a pocket of his jacket.

“Yeah, I know I should be out there,” he quietly snapped at the security person. “Do you have a problem with me checking on my wife?”

“What are you doing here?” Isabel gently demanded. “The show’s going to start soon.”

“I was about to ask you that.” His eyes drifted to Emily, and he offered her a soft smile. “Hey, Mrs B. Good to see you here today.”

“I’ll go and take my seat.” Emily walked past them, stopping only to pat his arm. “Congratulations,” she whispered to him before strutting down the corridor. Brandon frowned at Isabel.

“She knows?”

Isabel shrugged. “We were talking and it sort of… came out.”

“I was looking for you but Keith said you weren’t at the sound booth yet and it got me worried.”

“Why were you looking for me?”

He pulled off a glove to brush a lock of hair from her forehead with two fingers. “It’s your first day working since we found out. Are you feeling alright?”

The tenderness in his voice belied the blow she had dealt him mere days ago or the hurt she’d seen in his eyes. Brandon frowned again when she remained silent.

“Look, if you aren’t feeling well, even in the slightest, you can come back to the dressing room.” He patted her cheek with the back of his fingertips. “Or go back to the hotel, if you want. Just let Keith know and I’ll get the message. Okay?”

“I need to talk to you later,” she said hesitantly. “It’s… something important.”

“Brandon, the show’s rolling in five.” Their tour manager yelled at him. “What are you doing here?”

He rolled his eyes, turned around, and slipped on the glove. “Izzi, the sound desk needs you,” their tour manager shouted again. “Out there, both of you. Show’s rolling.”

Brandon took her hand. “Let’s go.”

Isabel shut the door of her dressing room and matched steps with him through the chaos, the booming speakers and thumping bass slowly getting louder as they approached the stage. Each glance they shared over the short walk made her breath catch.

That man had been her north star for as long as she could remember. As a teenage lad, he had slowly torn down her mask and uncovered the secrets that lay beneath, brave enough to stand by her as she fought her demons. He had held her hand through the storms, gentling her spasms of pain and chagrin and restoring her faith in life with his kindness and loyalty. When everyone else had seen a fragile creature made of glass, he had seen the girl who could touch the sky. And it was because of him that she had, indeed, touched the heights of success.

“Good luck,” she whispered when Brandon kissed her cheek and headed over to join the other lads. From the sound booth by the side of the stage she saw the quintet making their grand entrance. When Brandon’s dulcet, buttery voice filled the arena, her eyes turned misty again.

Her history had repelled and disgusted most people, but not Brandon. His patience had awed her, and with his love and reverence, she had sprouted and grown like the first shoots of a promising spring. She wanted to reward him with the gift of a family, wanted to experience the joy of parenthood with him, bask in the delight of watching their little one run around Castledale… and she had played that vision through her head again and again until she could bear no more.

Brandon was her blessing. But she needed to settle her past before the future could begin.

#

“Hi, Izzi.” Nathan raised a hand at Isabel in a friendly wave. “We were waiting for you to join us.”

From the doorway of the rich, luxurious private lounge, Isabel’s eyes passed over each of the people there, her head a little light from the overwhelming blend of perfume, sweat, food, alcohol, and other smells she could not recognise. The show had ended a little over thirty minutes ago, and the drive back to the hotel had unsettled her stomach. When the lads invited her to come in and help herself to the lavish spread of food and drinks, she prayed that she would not throw up.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked Brandon, who was on his feet and walking up to her before she could complete her question. He looked tired, his shirt uncuffed, hair a sweaty mess, and a towel draped across his shoulders. Grabbing a bottle of water, he excused himself and waited for her to lead him out of the lounge.

“I won’t keep you for too long,” she added as they rode up to their hotel room in the lift, her head swimming each time the elevator paused and resumed. When they reached their floor, Brandon handed her the bottle.

“Have a drink,” he said. “It’s sparkling water. Should ease your stomach.”

He unlocked the door to their suite and stepped in. As the lights came on, Isabel gently shut the door behind her and took a sip of the water. Brandon took a seat on the sofa and looked at her.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Isabel put the water bottle on the table and reached for her purse. She fished out the letter and held it out for him. He frowned at it.

“What’s this?” Taking it from her hand, he unfolded it, and the frown turned deeper as he read the note. When he had finished, he slowly folded the letter the way it was and met her expectant gaze.

“So this is the cause of all your troubles these days.” Brandon shook his head. “I can’t believe the audacity. After what they did to you—”

“I want to go and see her.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“I want to do it.”

“No, you don’t.” He leaped to his feet and came up to face her. “There’s no way you can do this. Don’t even think about it.”

She opened her mouth but he silenced her with an unpraised finger. “Don’t argue,” he warned. “Just a frigging letter is enough to bring back memories that that convince you that you’re unfit to be a mother. This is a piece of paper, Izzi. But the child in your womb is the fruit of our love. And you’re so ready to throw away your future because of your past.”

“I’m not throwing away anything,” she retorted quietly. “But I need closure.”

“I thought you found closure when you moved to Ireland over ten years ago?”

“No, I only distanced myself from my past, never closed it.”

He yanked her to him. “You’ve been afraid of them all your life. They are the reason why you cannot trust. They are the ones behind your nightmares, behind the panic attacks, behind the scars that cover your body. They are the reason why you sliced your wrist. And you still want to do this? What are you? Jesus?”

“I never said I was going to forgive them or forget what they did to me.”

“Then what is the point of the visit?” he barked. “This is a prison hospital, not an amusement park, do you understand that? If this letter can bring back memories that give you sleepless nights and make you sick, I can’t imagine what being in that hellhole will do to you.”

She stepped back from him. “I don’t know why I want to do it,” she murmured. “I just know that I do.”

“You’ll be stubborn like all other times, huh?” Brandon bit out. “I get that you don’t give a rat’s arse about your bloodline but this baby is not just your blood, it’s my blood too. But the fact that I care about your safety and the well-being of our child means nothing to you.”

“It’s not that.”

“It is! I feel awful about everything that has gone wrong between us and I’m trying so hard to make it right. And you are adamant about messing it up, like you don’t care at all.”

Her lips quivered as she glanced at his face. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “Don’t be mad at me, please.”

“I’m just bewildered.” He flung the letter on the table and stormed past her. “You could’ve told me that you don’t want this baby and it would be less painful than watching your lunacy.”

Her chest clenched. “Brandy…”

The door opened and then slammed shut, plunging the room into silence.

#

“Are you looking for someone?”

Isabel started at the voice. She was at 55, Hartland Way in London’s Harrow after a decade, staring at the grim relics of what used to be her childhood home. The crumbling bricks seemed to hold their breath, the splintering roof sagging like the weight of her heart. Vines crept up the sides, choking the weather-beaten structure. Broken windows stared back at her like dead eyes in the dark. The patina of neglect was a cruel mirror, reflecting the life she had escaped but could never forget.

The memories rushed back with alarming clarity, tinged with a strange sense of surrealism. She could still smell the cigarette smoke, feel the burn of hot metal and molten wax, the throbbing wounds, the blood running down her torn flesh, the cries echoing in the cold, unlit attic.

Slowly, she turned around to face the person who had just spoken to her. The middle-aged woman stared, then flinched and stumbled back, nearly tripping and dropping the groceries in her hands.

Isabel’s eyes welled up. “Lottie,” she said, recognising her old neighbour, Charlotte, the woman who had called the police that fateful night. Charlotte’s mouth parted, and she pressed a hand to her lips.

“Oh, god…” She whispered to herself. “Izzi… It’s you.”

Isabel opened her arms to the short-haired brunette with large, blue eyes, a twinge of happiness punctuating the nauseating heaviness she felt in her chest. Charlotte hesitated for a moment, then, as she stepped onto the cracked pavement and engulfed Isabel in an embrace, her shock turned into a barrage of emotions.

“Look at you,” she wept against her shoulder. “How you’ve grown… changed…” She took a rasping swallow. “I read about you in the papers when you got married. I could hardly recognise you…”

She pulled away abruptly and held her upper arms, her eyes wide and disbelieving. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Isabel sucked in a painful breath. “Reminding myself of where I used to be,” she answered. “And how far I’ve come.”

“But why? Isn’t your life in Ireland now?”

Turning around again, Isabel kept staring at the worn, abandoned property. “It’s sat untouched all these years, like a macabre museum exhibit,” she noted. “The house of horrors frozen in time.”

Charlotte nodded. “The council wanted to put up a new building here, but it’s been left hanging.”

“I know.” Isabel tapped the bag on her shoulder. “I signed the papers today. Work should begin soon now.”

She folded her arms across her chest and steadied herself. “I’m tempted to go inside.”

“Are you bloody mad?” Charlotte tugged her away. “It’s still the same… inside… it’s still the same as you remember… The coppers took away the people but they left the house the way it was the night they found you…”

Charlotte broke into fresh tears. “I’m so sorry…” She sobbed, shaking her head. “You sweet, beautiful child… I’m sorry I didn’t help you sooner… If only you’d given me a sign that you were—”

“It no longer matters.” Isabel squeezed her hands. “You saved my life, and I never got to thank you.”

She smiled. “Is your mother still around? And how are the lads?”

“Mum’s in a wheelchair now, barely hanging on.” Charlotte wiped away her tears, her face lighting up. “Jerome is in Australia with his family. I’m a grandma now, would you believe that? Jeff teaches at Queen’s University in Belfast.” She looked around them. “But why are you alone? Where’s your husband?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.” Isabel looked at the house again, but failed to feel any fear. “I needed to do this alone.”

She absently touched her abdomen through the oversized coat, her heart shedding some of its burden when she thought of Brandon, of Castledale, of their glorious life in Sligo, far removed from the horrors that had marred her childhood. The house was no longer the prison that had once held her captive. It was a testament to her long journey from a battered girl struggling to survive to the luckiest woman in the west of Ireland.

With a deep sigh, she turned away. “I cannot believe you’re still here,” Isabel said. “I can barely recognise the neighbourhood, with all the new buildings.”

“Yes,” Charlotte agreed. “Jerome wants me to live with him in Australia, but I cannot leave Mum alone. Maybe in the future…”

She looked up at the darkening sky, the breeze carrying the scent of rain. “We should go before it starts to pour,” Charlotte warned. “Did you drive?”

“Yes, I left my car around the bend.”

“I’ll walk you,” Charlotte smiled, picking up her groceries. “How are your uncle and aunt? And your brother? He’s in that band, isn’t he? We get to see them a lot on the telly.”

As they left the house behind, Isabel breathed in freedom, felt strength forming where there was only trepidation so long. The path ahead led her into the bustling afternoon, away from her ghosts and towards the future, nestled gently in her womb.

#

It was always lonely on the road.

After their electrifying Amsterdam concert, Pentoniac barely had an ounce of energy left when they tumbled into their chartered aircraft. The second leg of the tour had ended on a high note— Germany, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and the Netherlands conquered. Brandon gazed around him to find Kyle, Nathan, and Mark fast asleep as they travelled overnight to Dublin. Ben was nose-deep into a book, still and silent except for the page turns and the occasional yawn.

He was exhausted, but after unsuccessfully tossing and turning for a long time, Brandon had abandoned all hopes of sleep. He stared at the beige ceiling, hands folded under his head, as he tried to focus on the gentle sway of the plane and the sound of a soft snore somewhere in the dark, but his mind kept drifting to Isabel in London, facing the spectre she had kept at bay for ten years.

The message he had sent her hours ago had gone unanswered. He had been too busy all day to sneak in a phone call, and the network on the road was not always the best, but alone with his thoughts in the night, he failed to stop himself from turning into a worried mess.

Perhaps she thought he was still upset with her. Yes, he had been angry. But being away from her made him see how wrong that reaction was. He was so used to seeing her as this strong, capable woman, his rock, his anchor, that he’d forgotten the fragile girl hiding beneath the surface, still battling her demons. In a family bursting with expression – he and Ben with their soaring music, Emily with her warm counsel, and Thomas with his brilliant research – she was a guarded enigma. Her emotions were measured and seldom displayed in public, and she was never too shocked or surprised by whatever life threw at her.

Yet, that did not help him understand how she could be generous towards the people who had brutalised her, how she could steel herself to face a past that never ceased to haunt her. That letter had caused her much agony and distress, reawakening nasty memories. And there she was anyway, willing to honour a person’s dying wish, regardless of who they were.

Maybe he needed to be in her shoes, in her skin, to be able to understand her reasoning. And he could never do that.

Turning onto his side, Brandon picked up his phone and swiped through his photo gallery until he found the ultrasound image of their baby.

His breath caught. An errant tear rolled past his nose.

The years of abuse had broken her spirit and ravaged her body, but it had not been able to snatch away her innate goodness. He did not care for her bloodline or her history. Having her take care of him, witnessing her affection with his nieces and nephews, watching her turning little children into seasoned singers was more proof than he needed to know that she was born to nurture. Nothing in the world could convince him otherwise.

He quickly wiped away the tear when he heard rustling behind him.

“Are you alright?” Ben poked his head out of his seat. “I’ve been hearing you tossing around the whole time. Too restless to fall asleep?”

“I’m okay,” Brandon answered with a forced smile. “Just… you know…”

“Missing your wife? Yes, you’ve been more distracted and lovesick than usual.” Ben stared at his face in the dim glow of his reading light. “What’s going on with you two?”

Brandon felt a sudden heat in his cheeks. It was their secret for now, the tour too madding, too hysterical for such precious news. “You know how I get when I haven’t seen her in a while,” he lied, trying to keep his tone light. Ben did not pry.

“Only a few more hours and we’ll be back in Dublin.” He turned out the light, his head disappearing behind Brandon’s seat. “Try to sleep,” he said. “It makes time fly faster.”

Brandon closed his eyes, his exhaustion finally triumphing over his racing mind. When he stirred awake, the flight was taxiing down the runway of Dublin airport. The sky was starting to brighten when the car brought them to the hotel.

They trudged into the luxurious lobby, where the receptionist told Brandon that his wife had arrived the previous night. He rushed to the sixth-floor suite, carefully opening the door to be greeted by a silence punctuated only by the hum of the minibar. Leaving his bags near the door, he made his way to the bedroom, where Isabel was asleep underneath the massive duvet, her hair sprawled across the pillow, her mouth slightly parted as her shoulders rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

His chest seemed to cave under a crushing ache. The quiet, awkward girl he had first met twelve years ago was making him a father today, a dream they had mused over for the longest time- in bed, in the tour bus, in hotel rooms after a drunken night out, at romantic dinners, on long walks through the woods in Sligo. And he had been so busy giving the tour his all that he had barely allowed himself to process the gravity of impending parenthood.

Isabel opened her eyes as he slid next to her. He instinctively held her when she hurried to sit up.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Keep sleeping.”

“What’s the time?”

“Half five. When did you get in?”

“A little after ten last night.” She pressed her back against the headboard and moved her unkempt hair out of her face. “I avoided the scanners at the airport, if you’re wondering.”

He stared at her in the strangely calming dimness of the room, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs. In a pair of well-worn shorts and an old blouse, she could still pass for an adorable sixteen-year-old, the colour back in her cheeks after a week’s break from her professional demands.

He braced himself. “How did it go?”

She stifled a yawn behind her hand. “It didn’t.”

Brandon frowned. “What happened?”

“We were too late. She passed away before we could see her.”

She sounded impassive, a little tired, but not broken or terrified. It relieved Brandon that she had learned to dissociate from her tragedies and look at them from an outsider’s perspective.

“And… then?” he asked. Isabel tugged the duvet up to her shoulders.

“We got her interred and buried,” she answered. It was a simple, dignified ritual, an unmarked grave where her father, Gordon Standish, had also been put to rest. Isabel had held the lifeless hand of her mother and called her Mum one last time, knowing that hand could never hurt her again and wishing she could rewind the years and make things different. Emily and Thomas were scientific-minded, but Isabel had said a prayer for her parents, that they would find peace, and perhaps, come back as better humans in some other life.

“Did you find out why you were called?”

“No. But I did find out some other things.”

“Such as?”

He listened as she told him about the grandparents she never knew, the history of violence in her family, and that

In the brief silence that followed, Isabel mustered some courage. “I’m sorry.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “For all that I said and did.”

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “I was insensitive that night.”

“I gave you reason to think I didn’t want this.”

“I never thought that,” he amended. “I was sad because you couldn’t see how amazing you are.”

Moving closer to her, he drew her into his arms. Isabel closed her eyes, her hands circling his neck to curl around the collar of his shirt.

“I didn’t mean what I said that day…” she croaked. Brandon nodded.

“I know you didn’t. You’re confused and overwhelmed. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be strong all the time, because you have me to lean on.”

“I want this baby, Brandy… I want to be the mother of your child. I always dreamed of it, you know that. I’m just afraid… of not being good enough.”

“You’re going to be the best mother,” he whispered, his eyes welling up. “Because you know better than anyone else what a bad one is like.”

Isabel pressed her lips to his shoulder, her nostrils burning and throat tight. “This past week…” she began in a trembling voice. “…all I could think of was how much I miss Castledale, how much I want to be home with you. There’s so much to plan, to discuss, to prepare, to…”

She dissolved into a hiccuping sob. Brandon tried to ease her tremors by squeezing her in his arms. “Yes, there is. We’ll go shopping once this madness is over in three weeks. I’ll do the nursery, baby-proof the house, and get you everything you need.”

He stroked the back of her head. “But I need you to calm down and take one day at a time,” he soothed. “You have issues that can cause complications during the later months. You need to take it easy and be good to yourself.”

Peeling her from himself, he brushed the tears from her face. “This baby isn’t just a part of you and me,” he said. “It is your chance to show yourself that blood has nothing to do with the people we become.”

She swallowed shakily, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of his skin. “I’m sorry about everything…”

“Shh. No more.” He cupped her face with both hands. “I was worried sick about you. Every second that you were away from me, I was too restless to focus on anything else.”

When she looked into his eyes, Isabel thought she could drown in the overwhelming love the watery gaze held. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he announced. “I’ll help you through this. I’m going to care for you, cherish every moment of our baby growing inside you. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

He claimed her lips in a numbing kiss, and she returned his passion with equal urgency, needing the warmth, the closeness. Isabel sank onto the mattress and tugged him on top, a knowing glance passing between them.

“Were you okay on the flight?” he asked.

“Not really, but I made it.” She held his face between her hands. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He kissed her wrist, down the scar that had faded into inconspicuousness over the years. “I’d like to show you just how much.”

His growing hardness pressed against her stomach, bringing a small smirk to her lips. “What?” He raised his eyebrows. “We’re quite behind on the celebratory sex, you know. Besides, you make me the horniest man in the world.”

Their lips sealed again as clothes were discarded in a hurry, their bodies tangling amongst the sheets, kisses and caresses blending with sighs and whispers to fill the stillness of the room. Brandon ran his fingers across her luscious form, down her swelling breasts to the growing bulge below her navel. She shivered at his touch.

“You’re fine with this, right?” he asked, positioned between her legs. “Your body is going through changes and I don’t want to aggravate you.”

“I’m alright.” She spread her thighs, bucking her hips. “Please love me. I need you.”

Brandon filled her in one smooth motion, her snug grip around his hard length eliciting a groan from him. She struggled to breathe as the growing fullness extended to her very soul, infusing her with new life. He kissed his way up her throat and reclaimed her lips, swallowing her cries as he drove into her, stretching her open, hitting her most sensitive places, setting her on fire.

She clung to him, feeling the heat of their passion resonate within her, slowly erasing the fears and doubts. Each thrust was a note of liberation, each gasp a promise of hope. He held her gaze, the same desperation, the same need reflected in their eyes. Isabel pulled him in deeper, urging him to match the tempo of her building crescendo. They moved frantically, one ragged breath melding into another. The tension gave way to a burning hot release, her body twisting, his seed spilling into her, their moans hanging in the air.

“I love you, Izzi…” He panted into her ear. “Love you so much…”

A tear rolled down her temple. “I love you too, Brandy. I’m sorry I ever said that I—”

“Stop apologising.” He swallowed hard, then kissed away the briny trail from her temple. “We did talk about having five kids.”

“We did?”

“Didn’t we?” He smiled, kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry I sometimes forget that you’re no longer broken. I think I need a reminder sometimes that you’re the bravest girl in the world.”

He pulled out of her and wrapped her in his arms, cocooning them underneath the duvet.

“You didn’t tell Ben anything, did you?” she asked.

“Of course not. What you tell me remains between us.”

They fell into a companionable silence, interspersed with the purr of the air conditioner and the ticking of his watch.

“Croke Park is in two days,” Brandon reminded her. It was the big night they had been preparing for over seven months. Their biggest show at their national stadium. Eighty-five thousand people. Her last concert with the band before she limited herself to the studio.

“You can break the news if you want,” she said. “I won’t be able to hide it for too long, and I know it’s killing you to hold it inside.”

“You have no idea. But I think it’s better to wait until this circus is over. It will be all over the place if we tell the world now, with the tour already hogging the limelight. Plus, you’ll be going home after the Croke Park show, and the press might try to hound you when you’re on your own in Sligo if they know.”

“Will you be alright for three weeks without me?”

“Not easily. But I’ll manage, as long you’re alright.”

“I will. And when you come back home, I’ll be waiting with open arms. And open legs.”

He chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. “I’m so looking forward to being home with you once we go on our year-long sabbatical. I’ll cook for you, pamper you, shag you like a man possessed, we’ll go to showjumping events to see Liam’s horses, watch movies at our home theatre, and spend lazy afternoons at Lough Gill.”

Her heart flipped. “Lough Gill?”

“Yes. Under the oak tree, where we kissed for the first time.” He laughed, the sound as bright as a rainbow after a storm. “Can’t wait to see Mam and Dad’s excitement when we do break the news. And Ben… my god, he’a going to be an uncle for the first time. He’ll be losing his mind.” Brandon looked at her face. “Is Emily happy?”

“Ecstatic. Their first grandchild after all.” Her cheeks flamed. “She was teasing that you knocked me up on tour.”

“Didn’t plan it but this is perfect timing. I get to be with you every step of the way.”

Isabel sighed. “I have no fond memories of my life to share with our child,” she rued. “When they ask me how I grew up and what my childhood was like… I can’t tell them anything.”

“You can always tell them how you met a silly, handsome Culchie and traded your big city roots for a small-town life.” He hid a smile in her hair. “And I’ll tell them how this sweet, sassy little thing turned my world around in the best possible way.”

Isabel giggled quietly, his heart warming to see the smile that had fought many battles and emerged again to shine bright. He kissed her languidly as their eyes grew heavy. “Let’s sleep in,” he murmured. “I’ll order breakfast when we wake up.”

“I have to go to the stadium later,” she told him. “To work on the acoustics with the musicians.”

“Later,” he shushed her. “Stay with me now.”

He held her protectively, their comforting intimacy replacing her confusion and terrors. Isabel nestled in his arms and took in a deep breath. The last fragment of her past had been buried in an East London cemetery. She was no longer the frightened child curled up in the corner, no longer ashamed of the scars or afraid of the memories, because she had picked up the pieces and made a happy life out of them. And success, as her uncle Thomas said, was the best revenge.

She allowed herself to relax. It was not just a new milestone for their relationship; it was her chance to rewrite the narrative of her past. And she was ready— for the joy of watching him be a dad, for the life-altering changes that were imminent, for the precious memories they were going to make. For the miracle of motherhood.

With her Irish Charmer by her side, she was ready to face anything.