The letter was positively crawling with wishes and hopes for Deirdre, and only a few lines described the mother’s own state of affairs. She had clearly believed this was just another of many letters she would pen for her daughter in the future—she had thought she would get to write again.

She had not known, at the time, that she was writing the last letter she would pen in her life.

Brendan’s chest tightened. He had just destroyed one of the most priceless things in the world… with his own hands. If Deirdre knew…

She would go mad.

He immediately called someone in to restore the letter.

Deirdre returned to her room shortly after he left. She instinctively got down on all fours, her hands grazing across the floor to feel for the pieces. To her disappointment, she could not find a single piece, even though she was sure Brendan had scattered it like confetti.

“Miss McKinnon, what are you looking for?” Sam asked.

“Can you help me look, please?” Deirdre replied with a request. “Are