Chapter 5.  The Lavender Heir

Destination Ireland

Sasha stirred the coffee slowly on the marble worktop, watching the dark swirl in the mug as if it might offer answers. She reached up and tilted the blind, letting sunlight spill in and bounce off the rooftops beyond. The day looked too normal for what was happening.

She carried the coffee into the lounge and placed it gently on the table in front of her uncle.

Then she sat, across from him, still trying to catch up to the moment.

Eamon’s hair caught the light—a deep copper, just like her mother’s had been. And when he smiled in thanks, Sasha froze for a second. That smile. The same pearly teeth. The same warmth. It was like watching a ghost return in fragments.

Eamon spoke first, his voice soft and thick with emotion. “I’ve heard so much about you. Your mother loved you, Sasha. I can’t believe this is the first time we’re meeting.”

Sasha looked down at her hands, suddenly unsure where to place them. She forced a small smile.

“I’m sorry I never had the privilege to meet you until now,” she said quietly. “I didn’t even know you existed… not until last night.”

“And how would you, my sweet child?” he replied, his Irish lilt rich and gentle. “Your mother and I were so close… if that Cian lad had just left her alone, she wouldn’t have had to leave her home…”

He trailed off, realising too late that his tone had turned sharp. He cleared his throat and softened.

“What matters now is this—you must come to Ireland. Meet the family. Meet Heather—my wife. She’ll adore you. We were never able to have children of our own, and this moment? She’s been dreaming of it. She hasn’t stopped baking since I left!”

Sasha couldn’t help but smile. There was something charming about Eamon. Something safe. Honest. Uncomplicated.

“I suppose I’d better get some things together,” she said with a light laugh—then paused. “Only thing is… I have a cat.”

Moschops.

She thought of her friend Lydia, a fellow cat-lover, and quickly rang her. Lydia was thrilled to help and promised to spoil him rotten.

Within the hour, Sasha had packed a small suitcase, dropped off Moschops, and set off toward the ferry bound for Cork.

This wasn’t the day she’d planned.

But it was the beginning of something she could no longer avoid.