When I opened the door in the house, something big and round came flying at me before I had time to realize what it was.

Suddenly, I was face-to-face with Mrs. McCarthy.

“Where have ye been, child?! We’ve been worried sick about – ”
She stopped when she saw what I assumed was my bloodshot eyes.

“Aidan?”

Her voice was quiet, as if she were anticipating something huge to happen.

I, on the other hand, sounded like I had just been given my voice back after centuries.

“The undertaker is calling in the evening.”

Her face crumpled so fast I thought I had made a mistake. Instead, she grabbed me and pulled me into a fearsome hug, which I was oddly grateful for.

Some vague part of my brain took over from there, because I remember crying again.

“He’s gone, he’s gone. Papa’s gone.”

“Hush now, child. It’ll be alright. We’ll see him off well. We’ll see him off.”

She managed to shut the door and guide me inside, sit me down on a chair, and pull a blanket over my feet.

I was barely conscious.