“I do,” he admits, pausing to think about it. “But then I also think, when you lose someone when they’re young and in their prime, it reminds you how fragile life truly is. It reminds you that you were not put on this Earth to work. You weren’t put on this Earth to do the dishes or pay your taxes on time or, I don’t know, count your weekly alcohol units or goddamn calories. We’re not here to win awards or make money. What flashes through your mind in that fraction of a moment, when you realize this is it for you, that you’re about to die, is the kiss you stole from your first crush under the old oak tree. The cartwheels on the beach on a perfectly sunny day with your brothers. The first time your niece said your name, and you knew you were a goner—you were going to give her every single thing she asked for, including but not limited to your limbs. Losing someone when they’re young is like surviving a fatal disease. Life gifts you a second chance of not fecking it up. It can either dim you or make you shine brighter. It’s a great reminder that what we have is rare and fleeting and not to be carelessly wasted. You want to honor Richards’ legacy? Live.”

“That’s why you didn’t want to make it big.” I sniff. “You always wanted the family life. Your little corner in the world.”

And he almost got it, too, with Kath. But then she died. A part of me wants to go back to Ireland and start making babies with Mal right away. I’ve never admitted to anyone what crossed my mind when I got back home from Ireland after my first trip there.

How a part of me—and not a small one—was regretful that I took that morning-after pill. Because that would have been a great excuse to drop everything and go be with him. I’d have done what my mother hadn’t. I’d have tried to make it work.

Mal rubs his thumb across my cheek, frowning.

“Now you get it, Princess.”

The next couple days are a blur.

Mal and I have long, emotional, grueling sex. We talk for hours, wrapped around each other. I cry a lot, and he listens—a lot. Mal makes elaborate plans to tell his family about our marriage, and I do the same with my mother.

In reality, however, I don’t pick up the phone, and he doesn’t arrange any conversations with his family. He visits them every day, but never allows them to pop into the cabin. I’d say he avoids having them meet me like the plague, but even the plague gets the royal treatment compared to the way he handles his family when I’m around.