The front door is open and the full length of Daithí fills the frame. He leans against the doorjamb, soaking in the unexpected heat from the autumn sunshine. The mid-morning brightness splits the surface of the bay into shards of light below the house, dazzling Saoirse for a moment as she pulls the car between the gate piers, past the slate sign Daithí has fastened to the wall. Here, in their remote corner of Donegal, houses have no numbers, only names. *Teach Cuan na Míolta Móra*. Eloise is slumped in her car seat; she has fallen asleep somewhere along the winding coast road. Saoirse can’t bear to think of her youngest daughter’s face when the public health nurse cooed, tickled her thighs, and then surprised her with an injection in the arm. The child had jumped at the sting, her bottom lip quivering. Eyes, soft and dark as her father’s, filling with tears, looking at Saoirse as though she was the source of the betrayal, her own mother the cause of her now broken heart.…