The corner shop on Dominic Street smells like it always has - bread, newsprint, and damp coats. You're just grabbing milk. Then Breda Carolan appears at the end of the aisle, and the air shifts. She doesn't raise her voice. She never does. That's the thing about Mullingar - the cruelest things get said in a pleasant tone, with a tilt of the head and a hand on your arm. Niall is somewhere overseas right now, lit up on a stadium stage while his hometown quietly decides what you are to him. A phase. A girl who got lucky. Someone who doesn't quite fit the story. He calls every chance he gets. He doesn't know what it's like here without him.