Chapter Text
Part one: The Bolter
There was something about a quiet morning that Lena had learned to appreciate.
It had taken years to commit to the move, to this new life, but she’d finally done it nine months ago. At first, anxiety followed her everywhere. She wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice. Those first weeks were spent looking over her shoulder, hiding away in her mother’s cottage, waiting for something to follow her across the ocean.
Nothing ever did.
Now she couldn’t imagine her life if she hadn’t made the move.
The mornings were simple. Sheep in the distance. The tea was steeped too long. Wind brushes against the stone walls.
Sometimes, when she read something interesting, she’d glance up, ready to tell someone, only to remember there was no one to tell. She was alone here, for the most part. Not that she minded.
It was better to be alone here than there.
She chose this. She left everything behind. She missed them terribly, but this was for the best.
They hadn’t called. They hadn’t come searching, and she’d made sure they couldn’t. Not easily.
Except for her. She’d find her in a heartbeat.
But she wouldn’t come.
Not after what happened.
She’d first come to visit the old cottage with Sam and Ruby.
They’d been at the Cliffs of Moher when she let it slip that her mother had once lived nearby. Sam told her to get over herself and see it for herself. They were that close. It would’ve been ridiculous not to go.
After failing to find it on their own, she asked a sheep farmer if he knew where Elizabeth Walsh had lived. He looked momentarily stunned, then nodded when she showed him a picture of the house.
He pointed them toward a narrow footpath and watched as they started up the hill.
The grassy trail still bore the faint outline of what had once been a worn dirt track, now overgrown with wildflowers and tall grass.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but the moment she saw the stone wall and the rickety white fence with DAYBREAK COTTAGE painted across the nameplate, she started to cry.
She’d spent the first four years of her life here. Maybe she had one or two blurry memories, though she’d never quite been able to hold onto them.
Standing in the garden now, the coastal wind in her hair, sheep bleating in the distance, the afternoon sun breaking through the clouds, it stole her breath.
And then the memories came. Blurry at the edges, but there.
Picking potatoes from the garden out back. Walking to the shop. Racing home to beat the rain. Warm nights in her mother’s arms, the radio humming in the dark.
Ruby held her hand as she pushed the faded green door open. Dust coated every surface. An empty glass sat on the table. Two plates. An open book resting on the arm of the couch.
Everything had been left exactly as her mother left it.
It was cold and drafty, sunlight and rain slipping through holes in the roof.
She took a few things from the bedroom desk. The deed to the house. Her original birth certificate. Small, necessary proof of a life that had started here.
She returned to National City determined to sell the cottage and be done with it.
She hadn’t meant to keep it a secret; it just never came up.
She never mentioned it to her.
She was glad for that now.
She realized she’d been digging in the dirt for nearly twenty minutes. She plucked a few potatoes and carrots, dropped them into the basket, and brushed the soil from her hands.
It rained often, but she didn’t mind. She burned in the sun anyway. The weather never swung too far in either direction, nothing like New York. Or California.
She’d grown to love the spring here and was looking forward to her first full summer.
The rainy winters gave her an excuse to stay inside and read, or crochet, though she’d never quite mastered it. Sometimes she’d just lounge with tea or whiskey and let the radio fill the silence.
On long, stormy days, when the wind whistled, and even the sheep went silent, she liked to curl up and watch whatever film was on.
Eventually, the quiet crept back in.
It was hard not to think of her on days like that.
Hardest when a rare emergency broke somewhere far away, she still hadn’t shaken the habit of glancing at the sky, or reaching for the watch that was no longer on her wrist.
There were reminders of her everywhere.
The salt in the air. Beams of sunshine slipping through the clouds. The blue of the ocean.
And, of course, the obvious ones.
Her symbol. Her damn symbol. On backpacks, keychains, shirts.
The worst was the photograph hanging in the post office. Because, of course, she and her cousin had once visited the Cliffs of Moher.
Supergirl.
Kara Danvers.
She couldn’t escape her.
She didn’t enjoy the ache in her chest when the late sun cast everything in gold, reminding her of Kara’s blinding smile, her hair.
The keychains, the poster, the proof that Supergirl was still out there, still saving lives… that was nice.
She went back inside, washed the vegetables and her hands, then pinned her hair up with a clip. She jotted down what she needed from town, pulled on her jacket and boots, and grabbed her canvas bags and sunglasses before heading down the worn path.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Liam, the farmer she’d asked for directions on her first day here months ago, called out.
“I was just thinking that,” she replied, slowing at the stone wall bordering the farm.
The black-and-white border collie ran up, tongue lolling.
“Morning, Finn,” she said, scratching behind his ears.
“Heading into town?” Liam asked.
“I am. Do you need anything?”
“That’s alright. Catherine’s got us sorted,” he said with a smile.
Liam and Catherine were in their mid-fifties; aside from the older woman east of her cottage, they were her closest neighbors. Friendly, but not too friendly. Helpful, kind, and far enough away that unless she walked down the hill, it was easy to forget they were there. Close enough that after her first bad windstorm, they’d trekked up to check on her.
“You sure I can’t pick up a few biscuits?” she asked, knowing they were his favorite.
“Tempting offer, but no thanks,” Liam said, scratching at his beard, greyer with each month she’d been here.
“Grand, I’ll leave you to it,” she said, giving Finn one last pat.
“Join us tomorrow night,” Liam called, waving the dog back. “Catherine worries about you, all alone in that house.”
“We’ll see, sure,” she replied with a smile.
“If you see her, will ya let her know I tried?” he added with a grin.
Finn bolted toward the field, and Liam climbed back into the tractor.
She continued through town to the shop, filled both canvas bags with essentials, and by the time the midday tourists began drifting through the streets, she was already headed back up the hill.
At first, she’d avoided town between ten and three, worried a tourist from the Cliffs or the ferry might recognize her. But no one ever really did. Once, an American’s eyes widened as she passed, but nothing came of it.
She spent the rest of the afternoon putting the groceries away, prepping dinner, and tidying the house. Out back, she unclipped her two favorite jumpers from the line and carried them inside.
She liked living this way. Unhurried. With nothing pressing to be done.
She cooked, cleaned, went to the shop, took long walks, and lounged around. No meetings. No deadlines. No threats looming over the city.
It was the first time Lena had ever felt normal.
Here in Doolin, of all places.
With nothing else to fill the afternoon, she dialed the only long-distance number she needed to know. As it rang, she carried her tea out to the garden table, the extra-long cord trailing through the half-door. She settled into the old chair Liam had given her.
“Top of the mornin’!” Sam said.
“It’s two in the afternoon,” Lena replied, rolling her eyes.
“You’re no fun.”
The chatter around Sam faded.
“Did I interrupt something?” Lena asked, taking a sip of tea.
“Don’t worry about it. What’s up?”
“Ruby asked if she could visit in August.”
“She did?”
“She wrote me a letter.”
“Ruby Arias? My daughter?” Sam asked, stunned.
“Mhm. It was actually cute,” Lena said, thinking of it sitting on her desk.
“She didn’t tell you?” Lena added.
“No. She’s at school,” Sam said, a touch wounded.
“I’m not getting her in trouble, am I?”
“Of course not. She’s an adult now. Much as I hate it, she doesn’t need my permission to ask you.”
“I think she’s stressed. Finals, maybe,” Lena said carefully.
“Did she and Blake break up?” Sam asked, immediately catching the hesitation.
“No. Well. I don’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Stupid godmother secrets,” Sam muttered, not truly annoyed.
“When does the semester end?”
“In seventeen days.”
“I’ll reply tomorrow and tell her she should talk to you. But she’s always welcome here.”
“I know. And of course she can visit whenever she wants.”
“You can too,” Lena said lightly.
“We’ve got the summer conference. Otherwise, I would.”
“Galway has a climate festival in September,” Lena said casually.
“Are you suggesting I lie to L-Corp and tell them I need to be at a conference in Galway?” Sam asked.
“No,” she lied.
“I might have to bring Jess if we want cover.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
They talked another forty-five minutes before Sam had to go. Lena’s tea had long gone cold. She hung up the phone and left the door half open, letting the May air drift inside.
It stayed light until nearly ten, the sky clear and endless.
She wrote her reply to Ruby and left it by the door to take to the post office in the morning. Then she settled onto the maroon couch with her book.
The day faded the way it always did. Slowly. Without urgency.
She cooked dinner and ate outside as the sun began its descent. A glass of wine. The gentle hum of the evening. She locked up the house, though she didn’t really need to. She had never felt safer than she did here, alone in the hills of western Ireland.
It felt like stepping into another world. Part of why she’d come to love it.
In America, threats had been made against her weekly. Even after stepping down from L-Corp and handing off the foundation, they hadn’t stopped.
Here, she wasn’t a Luthor. She wasn’t a CEO. She wasn’t anyone remarkable.
She was just Lena.
The house was still under her mother’s name, as was everything else. The small car she drove had been paid for in cash and registered accordingly.
Some people remembered Elizabeth Walsh. The old postmistress. The McDermotts. Liam and Catherine were around her mother’s age, maybe friends once. At least, that was what Lena gathered from the one time Catherine said she had her mother’s eyes.
She hadn’t come here just to start over. She’d come to disappear.
The cottage remained under the Walsh Trust. She held dual citizenship now. Legally, she would always be a Luthor. Socially, she was L. Walsh.
Around town, she was known as the American up at Daybreak Cottage.
The only thing that reminded her she wasn’t normal was the memory of her old life. Blue eyes. Bright smiles. Delicate touches.
At first, all she thought about was Kara.
Her fingers used to twitch with the urge to call her, to tell her where she was. When that passed, she wanted to send a postcard instead. I’m alive. I miss you. Don’t come looking for me.
That faded too.
Now it was just the memories. They replayed less often than they had in the beginning, but they never truly stopped.
Lately, she found herself wanting to tell her about this life. About the primary school children dressed as Supergirl. The cute lambs. The wildflowers.
Sam had suggested she write it all down.
She didn’t call it a journal. It wasn’t a diary. It was a capsule. Whenever a memory stuck under her skin, she’d open the lined notebook and empty it onto the page.
It helped.
For a while.
It always came back to her.
Her laugh. The way she smelled. The heat of her hand in Lena’s burned so deeply into her fingers that she swore she could still feel it. On nights she drank too much, she almost convinced herself the memories were real.
Those were the worst nights.
She’d lie in bed and dream before her eyes even closed.
Sometimes Kara found her here, kissed her senseless. And then it would twist. Anger. Guilt. Being dragged back across the ocean.
Other times, the dream was more mundane. No cape. No city. Just the two of them in this quiet life.
And sometimes, after the pub, after too much whiskey, she’d slip into bed imagining Kara’s mouth, her hands, her breath against her ear. She’d press her own hand between her thighs and pretend it was Kara’s.
By morning, the shame was brutal.
Like a hangover, but worse. Not from the liquor. From her heart.
It had gotten better. Slowly.
Some days passed without Kara crossing her mind at all. And then she’d walk into the post office and see the poster. The keychains. That damn symbol.
She’d treated her obsession like an addiction.
Quit her cold turkey. Moved countries. Changed numbers.
Nine months clean.
She still craved her. Still wanted to hear her laugh. To stand beside her. To reach for her without thinking.
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. If she did, she’d relapse. So she did her best not to think about the past.
Sleep was another matter. In her dreams, Kara found her.
London. A dinner with a faceless date. Laughter. Wine. A flash of red past the restroom door. She’d follow it into the street. Nothing.
Then she’d turn and collide with her.
Kara would look at her as if she were both a miracle and a mistake, like she wanted her.
She’d whisper that she didn’t care why Lena left, only that she’d let her stay.
Then she’d kiss her, right there in the street.
Lena always woke before it went any further.
She nursed the Danvers hangover the same way she always did.
Shower first. Hair plaited. Trip to town.
Pretend she hadn’t just been wrecked in her sleep.
By morning, the routine settled back over her like armor.
Ruby’s letter went into her raincoat pocket. Wellies on. Hood up against the warm rain.
The footpath was muddy, but she knew where to step. She’d walked it enough by now.
“Didn’t expect to see you today,” Maura said when Lena pushed back her hood.
“I’ve got a letter to send,” she replied, smiling.
It was just the two of them inside the small post office.
Lena placed the envelope on the counter. Maura glanced at the address, then back at her.
“If we could get it there in a week, that’d be ideal,” Lena said, digging into her pocket for cash.
“I’ll ring Tommy and tell him the American has an urgent message,” Maura teased.
“Grand,” Lena muttered.
She half listened while Maura made the call, thumbing through the stack of newspapers.
She’d donated enough to the town that deliveries now came more often. Local. Galway. Dublin. One international paper, weekly.
She wasn’t looking for her.
“Right, Tommy’s coming down now. He’ll sort it,” Maura said.
“Thanks a million,” Lena replied, sliding an extra banknote across for the two papers in her hand.
“You’re sounding more like a local every month,” Maura said, slipping the papers into a plastic bag.
“I am Irish, you know. Did boarding school here and everything,” she reminded her with a smile.
“Right you are,” Maura said. “Heading anywhere today?”
“Might do tomorrow,” Lena answered, tucking the papers under her arm and zipping up her jacket.
“Be careful up that hill,” Maura said with a nod.
She made her way back up to the house, taking the long way despite the rain. She liked the extra time. The air. The steady hush of it. The fields stretched green toward the cliffs in the distance.
Inside, she put the kettle on and made coffee, then fried a couple of eggs for toast.
The rain didn’t let up. If anything, it grew heavier, and by noon the hill had vanished into gray.
She took the chicken from the fridge and set out potatoes and vegetables for a proper roast. She’d been craving it all week. Last night’s vegetarian attempt hadn’t come close. She’d do it right tonight.
Outside, she plucked herbs from the sheltered side of the house, where they were mostly spared from the rain and wind. Rosemary. Thyme. A bit of parsley.
She tore off a few mint leaves and chewed them as she worked.
She’d have to ask Catherine or Aoife how to stop the mint from taking over the garden. She didn’t want to pull it out entirely, but if it kept creeping into her thyme, she might have to make the sacrifice.
Everything was prepped and set back in the fridge for later.
She stood in the quiet kitchen for a moment, wondering what to do with the rest of the day.
The radio hummed to life. She fed the fireplace a few logs and settled into the reading chair, local paper first, then international.
A loud meow sounded at the back door.
She rolled her eyes as she crossed the room. “Peggy, what are you doing out in this weather?”
The grey tabby darted inside, trying to dodge the towel Lena kept by the door. Lena caught her anyway and gave her a brisk rub-down before shutting the door against the rain.
Peggy bolted straight for the fireplace.
Lena laughed and dialed Aoife’s number.
“Hello?”
“It’s Lena.”
“Oh dear, I was just about to ring you.”
“If it’s about Peggy, she’s inside. Safe and dry.”
“Oh, thank goodness!”
“I’ll keep her in as long as she tolerates it.”
“Thanks a million, Lena.”
There was a pause.
“If the weather breaks, would you come for dinner?” Lena asked. “I made a full roast. I could use the company.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t be a bother.”
“You wouldn’t. I’ll bring it to you if you’d rather.”
“Lena…”
“I insist, Aoife. I’ve been meaning to call by.”
“Americans.”
“Pushy, I know,” she said with a grin.
“Alright then. Six?”
“Six is perfect,” Lena said, hanging up before the woman could change her mind.
She reclaimed her armchair, and Peggy hopped onto the arm beside her.
“You and Finn do make yourselves at home,” she said affectionately.
Peggy meowed at Finn’s name, eyes going wide.
“Not here, darling,” Lena murmured with a chuckle.
She scratched under Peggy’s chin until the cat had her fill and returned to her post by the fire.
Lena read the international paper until the light began to fade. When the clouds thickened, she made tea, topped up Peggy’s water, scattered a few treats, and switched off the radio.
She sipped her tea, standing in the kitchen, staring at nothing, trying not to think of her. It hardly thundered here. Lightning was rare, reserved for the worst storms.
Kara would like that. She’d like the quiet. The steadiness of it.
Lena shook her head and set the teacup down a little too hard. Peggy let out an indignant meow and bolted for the bedroom.
“Gotcha!” Lena called, barely catching her before she disappeared under the bed.
“I’m not in the mood for company this week,” she muttered, soothing the cat as she carried her out of the room.
She shut the door behind them and watched Peggy stalk off to sulk in the narrow space by the couch.
It was hard not to think about her, about the last time they spoke, especially in this weather.
She turned on the TV and opened a streaming app. A rarity these days, but she needed comfort. Anything to distract from the memory of blue eyes in the rain.
She put on The Office and decided she’d bake cookies to bring as well.
While the oatmeal raisin cookies baked, she sat on the floor with Peggy, who had decided she was no longer offended.
She pulled the cookies from the oven and turned her attention back to dinner. Two episodes in, she was checking the sides and crisping the chicken skin. By the next, she was packing everything up, trying to convince Peggy to come along.
The rain had eased, but not enough for her to carry the whole dinner on foot.
She loaded everything into her old Toyota Yaris and chuckled when she saw Peggy perched in the driver’s seat waiting for her.
The drive down the hill was short, in the opposite direction from Liam’s farm.
Dinner was lovely. Aoife had made a few sides, because that was just how she was. They drank whiskey and talked about the summer festival the town was putting on. She stayed longer than she meant to, and it was a good evening.
Before she left, she fixed Aoife’s phone so she could call her grandkids, then found three or four other things to sort out. By the time she was finished, she was leaving with the rest of the whiskey and a promise to let Aoife return the favor next week.
She didn’t even bother washing the dishes when she got home. Sleep took priority.
The morning felt different.
It could’ve been the turn of the season, the last week of May settling in.
She couldn’t shake it, the memory.
She needed to get out of town for a day. Maybe two.
She rang Nora, packed a bag, and grabbed the phone she never used. Turned it on. Made sure it still worked.
The house was locked tight before she left. Windows sealed. Gate secured.
By nine, she was on the road, leaving Doolin behind.
A small herd of sheep slowed her outside the village, a pair of cows not far behind, but eventually she made it to Galway.
“What brings you here so early?” Conor asked, his accent as thick as his beard.
He had light brown hair and grey-green eyes, a few years older than her, though it didn’t feel that way. His life was simple in ways hers had never been.
He’d never asked why someone like her wanted a luxury car hidden in a small city. He’d just given advice and offered the garage.
“I needed a change of scenery,” she said, stepping out to hug him.
He smelled like smoke and earth.
They’d met on her first day in Ireland.
She’d hired a private car from Dublin to Doolin. The driver made it as far as Galway before pulling over and announcing he wouldn’t go another mile. There was a match on. He’d never missed one in his life and wasn’t about to start.
She’d offered double. He’d shrugged.
So she’d stood there on the pavement with her suitcase and nowhere to go.
The last night in National City was still too close. If she stopped moving before she reached the cottage, she was afraid she’d fall apart in public instead of private.
Conor had chased her half a block, calling after her like she’d dropped something.
“You look like you could use a hand,” he’d said. “And maybe a pint.”
She’d almost told him to mind his business.
But there had been no curiosity in his eyes. No recognition. Just kindness.
He’d bought her a drink, introduced her to spice bags, and asked only where she was headed.
He hadn’t asked why.
Something easy had grown after that. Friendship first. The rest had been simple.
“Are you sticking around?” he asked, brushing her hair from her face when she pulled back.
Heat crept up her neck. They’d slept together once, spent more than a few nights in the pub flirting, but after that, they’d kept it friendly. She hadn’t wanted to blur the lines. He was too kind, and she was too distracted by someone else to pretend otherwise.
Conor knew the deal. He’d never asked for more, never acted like being just friends was a problem. And she suspected it wasn’t. He was easygoing like that.
“I promised Nora I’d take her for a spin,” she said, nodding toward the garage behind him.
“Ah, that’s rotten luck for me,” Conor grinned.
“You’ve had your turn,” she said with a wink.
“Rubbing salt in the wound now?” he teased, cheeks turning pink.
He lifted the garage door, and she couldn’t help the small, pleased smile at the sight of her secret indulgence.
She grabbed her bag and phone and handed him the Toyota keys.
“You’ll mind yourself, yeah?” he said, opening the sports car door for her.
“Why, you worried about me?” she asked, setting her bag inside.
When she straightened, he was close. Almost nose to nose.
“Only a bit, sure,” he said.
She held his gaze a second longer than she meant to.
“I’ll be back Sunday,” she replied, brushing a kiss over his cheek.
“Go on, then,” he laughed, closing the door for her.
She buckled in, revved the engine, and gave him a quick wave before pulling out of the garage.
The sleek black Porsche 911 Carrera S felt like driving on ice. Smooth. Precise. Fast as hell. A sliver of her old life she still held onto, saved for the days she needed to disappear for a while.
The skies had finally cleared, late morning light drying the roads, and Lena took full advantage of the long, open stretches leading toward Dublin. The wheel steadied beneath her hands as the engine’s low rumble deepened with her speed, and she let herself push a little too fast.
Fast enough to drown out the memory of her old life.
By the time Lena reached Dublin, the city was already humming with bank holiday energy. She spotted Nora waiting outside the pub and slipped inside with her, ordering a drink almost immediately. They split a spice bag and caught up on the last two months apart.
By mid-afternoon, the place had filled in. It was a bank holiday tomorrow, and like anywhere else, people liked to start early. More pints arrived. Nora’s friends drifted over. A football match blared from the TV. The noise rose with every round.
They ended up at another pub down the road. More whiskey. More laughter. More anything that kept her from thinking about how easy it would be to board a plane to California.
By the end of the night, she was in Nora’s bed, their mouths locked together.
It wasn’t romantic. Just desperation dressed up as something easier.
They’d made a deal months ago, back when Conor first introduced them, and the flirting had never really stopped. Nora was getting over a toxic ex who’d ghosted her. Lena was getting over her ex-best friend, the one she’d ghosted instead.
It wasn’t sweet or pretty. Just sex and distraction, and for a few brief hours, it felt like bliss.
She woke with a headache, Nora drooling against her bare chest. Lena slipped out of bed for water, then returned and tucked herself back beside her.
Saturday unfolded the same way, slower to start and louder by the end.
By Sunday morning, Nora watched her from across the bedroom, a strange look on her face.
“What?” Lena asked.
“You never talk about her. Not unless you’re blasted,” Nora said.
Lena didn’t need to ask who she meant.
“I’m an idiot when I’m drunk,” she said with a shrug.
Nora tilted her head, slipping into a half-decent American accent. “Kara has the best eyes in the world. She’s so pretty, like a goddess. And that’s not just my opinion. Lots of people agree with me. They just don’t realize it.”
Lena groaned, dragging her jumper over her head.
“Did I really say that?”
“You said a lot of things,” Nora replied.
“Well, ignore it. Like the stories of Rory,” Lena snapped, then winced. “Sorry.”
“You know we’re more than fuck buddies, right? You can talk to me,” Nora said softly.
“I know. I’m sorry for being a prick,” Lena said.
Nora shrugged it off.
“You owe me a ride, especially after I spent last night riding y—”
Lena threw her jeans at Nora’s head, cutting her off before she could finish.
“Jesus, Nora,” Lena muttered, cheeks burning.
“Shy all of a sudden?” Nora teased, tossing the jeans back as she climbed out of bed.
“Get dressed. I’ll take you for a spin before I head home,” Lena said, already retreating toward the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, she was driving out of Dublin with Nora in the passenger seat, her laughter filling the car.
Nora leaned toward the open window, reddish-brown hair whipping in the wind, freckles scattered across fair skin, and deep green eyes bright with mischief. She was beautiful, sure, but it was her humor that drew Lena in. Quick, sharp, a troublemaker. A few years younger, with an easy confidence that made everything feel lighter.
“You know I’m a decent friend, yeah?” Nora said, glancing over at her.
“Are you saying you don’t want to sleep together anymore?” Lena asked, amused.
“I’m only saying you could do with a few more friends.”
“I have friends. You’re one of them.”
“Funny, then, how you’ve never told me what happened with her,” Nora said, brows lifting.
Lena slowed to a stop back in front of Nora’s flat.
“Just because I haven’t told you doesn’t mean I don’t trust you,” she said.
“I’m only ribbing ya,” Nora said, her tone softening.
“I know. I just don’t think I’ll be ready to tell that story for a very long time.”
“Fair enough.”
Lena watched Nora climb out of the car and walk around the front before leaning down into the driver’s window.
“You might want to tell drunk Lena that,” Nora said.
“I told you, drunk me is an idiot,” Lena replied.
“Nah, she’s lovely.”
“Thanks for having me. And for…” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely between them.
“Drive safe, yeah?” Nora said, straightening and stepping back from the car.
“Will do,” Lena replied, pulling away.
Nora wasn’t wrong.
She didn’t have many friends in Doolin. She preferred it that way. After a lifetime of attention, being left alone felt like relief. She liked her life as it was. Simple. Predictable. No one asked questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
Her mind settled as she drove the coast, grey water stretching beside her, the radio low and forgotten. By the time she reached Galway, the guilt had dulled to a low ache she could tuck away for now.
Conor was rushing off to a date, which made switching cars easier than usual.
It was drizzling when she finally pulled into Doolin, the cottage waiting in the light mist. The lights were off. No one was expecting her.
She sat there for a moment, the engine ticking as it cooled, the quiet pressing in again.
Inside, she indulged in a long, hot shower, then slipped into shorts and a long-sleeved shirt before climbing into bed.
The silence wrapped around her. Familiar. Heavy.
Sleep came quickly. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out when the knocking started.
“Catherine?”
“Sorry to drop in,” Catherine said, glancing over her shoulder.
“Nonsense. Come in.” Lena stepped aside and closed the door behind her.
“I know you just got back to town, but I thought you’d want to hear the news,” Catherine said, nodding when Lena offered tea.
“Oh? Must be good enough for you to make the trip up the hill,” Lena said, setting out their mugs.
“It’s interesting, you know,” Catherine said.
They made small talk while the tea steeped. Lena sat across from her and crossed her legs, willing them to stay still. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt nervous.
“An American knocked on our door yesterday,” Catherine said.
Lena’s stomach dropped.