That night, as Lydia slept, I cradled my baby girl in my arms and told her an Irish fairy tale my father used to tell me. I remembered him not only as the man whose weakness had destroyed him and hurt me so much, but as the man capable of love and kindness. He had loved my mam so very much, and I understood that desperate love now. Would I fall apart as he did if I had to move to a foreign country after losing the love of my life, and having to raise two children on my own? Looking down at my daughter, I knew the answer was no. But my father hadn't been that strong. I didn't remember him falsely, but I forgave him, and it had brought peace to that corner of my heart.
There is such a thin veil between love and hate. I had chosen love.
When Catriona's eyes finally fluttered shut, her lashes two dark crescents on her petal-soft skin, I stared at her for a long time, marveling at everything we'd gone through to make it to this one, perfect moment.
I had set out on a mission to achieve what I had once deemed life's greatest treasures, and all along, what was most precious and powerful was already inside of me.
Love.
Trust.
Forgiveness.
And with these things, anything was possible. Anything at all. And there was no more beautiful proof of that than the small, beloved girl sleeping peacefully in my arms.