23 Ireland called to me . The homeland I'd never seen , full of family I'd never met . I flew to Cork with one suitcase and no plans . Found cousins who ran small operations - protection for local pubs , some smuggling , nothing like Boston's bloody streets . " You look haunted , cousin , " Brendan said my first night , over whiskey that burned like home . " I am . " " By what ?" " My choices . " " Ah . " He poured another round . " Those ghosts are the hardest to escape . " I spent years learning the old ways . Not the violence - I'd had enough of that . But the traditions behind it . The reasons our families came to America . The honor we'd lost along the way . " Your problem ," Aunt Brigid told me , watching me work her farm , " is you tried to serve two masters . The old ways and your heart . " " The old ways demand loyalty to family . " " Aye . But they also demand truth . You gave loyalty without truth . That's not honor , boy . That's cowardice . " Her words cut deeper than any bullet . Three years in Ireland , I finally felt ready . commissioned a stone for our child . Paid for it to be placed in the old cemetery overlooking the sea . " Baby O'Sullivan- Known to God Alone " I spent hours there , talking to a child who never drew breath . Apologizing . Explaining . Begging forgiveness from someone who couldn't give it . : " I would have loved you ," I told the stone . " I would have been better for you . I'm sorry I didn't get the chance . " The wind carried my words away . I hoped , wherever children wait before birth , ours heard them . Writing to Saoirse about the memorial took months of drafts . Too much emotion , and I'd seem like I was trying to manipulate her . Too little , and it would seem callous . Finally , I kept it simple . Facts . The photo . A hope for her peace . Declan delivered it during a meeting . Came back with her response : " Thank him for me . " Three words . More than i deserved . Word traveled even to Ireland . The Brennan - Fitzgerald alliance was the strongest in Boston . Saoirse had taken over her father's operations . Had children . Built an empire . " Your old flame did well , " Brendan noted , reading the reports .. " She was always going to do well . With or without me . " " Does it hurt ? Knowing she found happiness with another ? " I thought about it . " It used to . Now ? I'm just grateful she found it . " And I was . The girl who'd blazed like fire deserved someone who could stand the heat without trying to contain it . I found the book in a small shop in Galway . First edition Yeats , leather - bound and beautiful . Saoirse used to tease me about reading poetry . " Such a soft boy , " she'd say , but her eyes were fond . I bought it without thinking . Spent weeks deciding whether to send it . Finally wrote a simple note . An acknowledgment of the past without trying to resurrect it . Ten years after losing her , I finally understood . Love wasn't possession . Wasn't need . Wasn't even choice , really . Love was wanting someone's happiness more than your own presence in their life. I loved Saoirse enough to be grateful she'd found better than me . " You've changed ," Aunt Brigid noted one evening . " The ghosts are quieter . " " I made peace with them , " " How ? " " By accepting they were right to haunt me . And then letting them go . " 1 never married . Never felt the need . Some men get one great love in their lives . I'd had mine and destroyed it . But I built other things . Helped Irish families legitimize their operations . Taught younger men the importance of choosing love over legacy . " You sound like you're speaking from experience , " one young lieutenant said after I'd advised him to follow his heart . " I am . I chose wrong . Don't repeat my mistakes . " " What happened ? " 23 " I lost everything that mattered trying to hold onto things that didn't . " He chose the girl . Smart lad . I'm sixty now . Still alone . Still in Ireland . Still standing on these cliffs when the memories get too heavy . But the weight is different now . Not regret so much as remembrance . Sometimes I imagine parallel worlds where I made different choices . Where I told my father no..Where I confessed to Saoirse immediately . Where I raised our child . But this is the world we have . The choices we made . And in this world , the best thing I ever did was let her go . The wind picks up , salt spray stinging my face . Time to head back . Brendan's expecting me for dinner. His grandchildren call me Uncle Cillian and beg for stories . I tell them about brave princesses who slay their own dragons . About kingdoms built on truth instead of lies . About love that sets people free instead of caging them . " Did the princess find her happy ending ? " they always ask . " Yes ," I always answer . " Just not with the first prince . She found a better one . One who deserved her ." " What happened to the first prince ? " " He learned to be content with the memory of her light , even if he couldn't bask in it anymore . " Walking back to my cottage , I think about Saoirse one more time . Send a prayer into the wind for her continued happiness . Then I go inside , close the door on the past , and continue living with my choices . It's all any of us can do . - Cillian O'Sullivan , County Cork , Ireland