Epilogue

They found John Gallagher in his bed, arms tightly wrapped around the pillow which nestled the sealed ashes of his love, his heart, his home. 

He’d died peacefully in his sleep on the anniversary of his marriage to the love of his life, Clare. Some said his lips bore a trace of a smile.

Shortly before, he’d told a close friend: “I’m old, Thurstan, too old for this. I need to go home, and home is where the heart is.”

THE END