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Universe 6, May 15, 1958, on a hill outside Lisdoonvarna, Ireland…
Angus MacNamara pulled the pistol from the holster on his kilt belt. He checked the chamber, made sure his shot was loaded, then looked down at the grave and glared.
Love and hate had always been intertwined in his life. The nagging harpy he’d married over forty years ago had been his greatest pleasure and his darkest curse. Loving so hard made a man weak. There was no doubting that for him. But losing that love could destroy ya and often did.
“Alright, woman. It’s been nine fecking years, but I finally kept my entire promise to yer dying soul. Yer children are married well, even the stubborn ones. Ya have two grandchildren remembering yer name already, five still on the tit, and a few more on the fecking way because
