For the first time, Deirdre realized Brendan was in more pain than she was enduring. Her mother was at least coming back to her.

But he was losing his.

He had to pretend that that day was not coming. He had to watch his mother put all of this effort into decorating the room and yet never live to see it used.

Deirdre clenched her hands. “Does she know?”

“I didn’t tell her, but I suspect she’s aware of her own mortality. It’s her own health, after all. Which is why she spent so much time and effort in this room. It would be fine if she never got to see her granddaughter… if that same child could still feel her love anyway.”

Deirdre’s face was stricken with tears. A moment later, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Brendan. You must be in so much more pain than I am.”

And she had misunderstood him. She thought he was trying to ensnare her.

Brendan said nothing and simply ruffled her hair. “The Brighthall retinue knows all about it, and I think mom does, too. She just chose not to make it ex