The next day, Fitzgerald's was a hive of activity. The village Stitch-and-Bitch group were crossing knitting needles and gossiping in the far corner while a fresh batch of tourists were booking in to the Fitzgerald Holiday Lets in the outbuildings behind the pub.

Assumpta was grateful for the distraction. Humiliation didn't come close to how she was feeling at this moment of time. Her fixation on becoming pregnant – her obsession with it – had very likely ruined the best friendship she'd ever had, a suspicion confirmed when Peter neglected to come in for his usual 2 o'clock sandwich.

She remembered his eyes vividly as she danced around the question. Don't ask me – please, ask anyone but me.

You're the only one I can ask.

Leo had been especially kind to her on the way back. He spoke at length about how children weren't the be-all and end-all of everything. Their lives had been pretty great up until now – they'd travelled; they had nice things. Wouldn't a child only wreck that?

The phone rang, instantly pulling her from her musings. "Fitzgerald's" she answered automatically.

"Assumpta?" Oh. God. It was Peter.

"I didn't expect to hear from you – "

"I wanted to check in – see if you were okay?"

She tangled the phone cord with her right hand and answered, noncommittally "I'm working."

"I know. I know." He sounded nervous. "Do you have any time? I'd like to see you."

Assumpta tried to gauge his tone. "Why?" she offered, warily.

"For pity's sake, Assumpta I'm still your friend." Peter checked himself. "Aren't I?"

"Of course. Of course you are. I'm just still a little embarrassed."

He tutted. "Don't be. You have no reason to. Look, can I meet you out front, by the bridge in say, 20 minutes?"

She agreed immediately and replaced the receiver, relief coursing through her veins. At least he doesn't hate me.

Peter left for the bridge as soon as he hung up the phone. All morning he'd kept himself cooped up in his office, trying desperately not to think of the one thing she had wanted him to.

All night he had vacillated from one scenario to the other, weighing out the pros and cons, preparing a mental list of the repercussions behind any choice he made.

It was without a doubt the most difficult thing anyone had ever asked of him. Harder still, perhaps than his decision, all those years ago, to go on Retreat rather than stay and fight for Assumpta.

She certainly didn't make his life easy.

Peter had often wondered if he'd chosen correctly back then?

He certainly hoped so. Life would have been decidedly different had he not gone away. But he was happy with his life – they both were, it had seemed. His feelings for Assumpta back then were so charged, so intense, Peter doubted that their relationship would have survived had he succumbed to temptation. They certainly wouldn't have the close friendship that he cherished today.

No, he chose well. And he sought counsel for that decision in the same place that he sought counsel for this one. The Church.

Without its teachings to fall back on, Peter had nothing. His emotions were too erratic when it came to Assumpta. In all honesty, he'd award her anything if he went on gut instinct alone. No, he had to go with his training on this one. He had to go with what was right.

In the open air, the Priest was even more resolved in his decision. It would hurt her to hear that he hadn't changed his mind. Of course it would – momentarily. But it was the right decision. Surely she'd understand that?

Peter gripped the bricks on the bridge for encouragement. He had to do this. It was right.

A child's laughter gave him cause to turn. Niamh and Ambrose were taking their brood to Kathleen's. Aoife, their youngest, and the only one of the Egan clan to have both Peter and Assumpta as godparents, squealed at delight upon seeing her godmother. He watched as Assumpta squatted down to her level, allowing the child to run eagerly into her arms. Together they swung around in circles, Aoife leaning her head into the crook of Assumpta's neck. She looked so happy. She looked so natural.

You'll make an amazing mum, I know it.

The memory of his words caught in Peter's throat. What if she couldn't? What if she never gets the chance? When Assumpta caught up to him, his eyes were already stinging with tears.

"Okay," he mumbled, simply.

At first she didn't hear him. She didn't understand.

"Okay," he said louder, searching her eyes for the question she had already asked him.

"Okay?" she returned, warily. Surely this didn't mean…

"Okay." Peter mouthed again, with a renewed sense of determination – of confidence.

Wrapping herself in Peter's arms was a bold move for a married woman to make in the broad light of day, but Assumpta didn't care. She kissed him on the chest, on his cheek and on his temple. "Thank you," she whispered through tears, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Peter immersed himself in her touch, momentarily wishing it would continue for longer than the 30 seconds that it did.

Oh, boy. Was he in trouble.