I lár geimhreadh ciúin i mBaile Átha Cliath, bhí an teach ospidéil stairiúil ina chíor thuathail ag deireadh na bliana.

In the quiet midwinter of Baile Átha Cliath, the historic hospital building was in chaos at the year's end.

Bhí fuinneoga móra mullionáilte ag ligean solas lag an gheimhridh isteach.

Large mullioned windows were letting in the faint winter light.

Scaip braoiníní deannaigh tríd an aer, agus éinín na Gaoithe ag dul tríd na scoilteanna.

Dust motes floated through the air, with a small wind bird fluttering through the cracks.

Bhí crith istigh in Maeve, a luigh ina leaba sa bharda síciatrach.

There was a tremor within Maeve, who lay in her bed in the psychiatric ward.

Ar an gcéad lá den Bhliain Nua, fuair sí rud aisteach.

On the first day of the New Year, she received something strange.

Litir anaithnid, suite go neatly ar a leathán bán.

An anonymous letter, neatly placed on her white sheet.

Bhí suim aici, ach bhí eagla uirthi freisin.

She was curious but also afraid.

Níor thuig sí conas a tháinig sé ann.

She didn't understand how it had gotten there.

Bhuail an doras go ciúin agus tháinig Cian isteach.

The door opened quietly, and Cian entered.

Deartháir buartha, i gcónaí an cosantóir, bhí eagla air faoin staid go raibh Maeve ag dul trí.

A worried brother, always the protector, he was concerned about the state Maeve was going through.

"Cé a thug chugat é?" a d'fhiafraigh sé.

"Who brought it to you?" he asked.

"Níl a fhios agam," a d'fhreagair Maeve go faailteach,

"I don't know," Maeve replied tentatively,

"Ach tá rómhéid ag dul tríd mo cheann chun go n-éireoinn amach."

"But there's too much going through my head to figure it out."

Bhí a intinn scamallach, iad na cuimhní ceilteará dorcha mar scáthanna.

Her mind was cloudy, her memories hidden away darkly like shadows.

Bhí Cian diongbháilte.

Cian was determined.

"Caithfidh mé a fháil amach cé hé nó cé hí," a dúirt sé, agus a phósta ar a chasóg á dhúnadh air.

"I need to find out who he or she is," he said, buttoning his coat.

Amhail an fear ceilí, bhí sé réidh le fiosrú.

Like a gentleman, he was ready to investigate.

Chuaigh sé síos pasáistí na hospidéil, áit a raibh páipéar balla a bhí ag feo ag cuimhneamh ar laethanta níos gile.

He walked down the hospital corridors, where faded wallpaper recalled brighter days.

Ní raibh na hoibrithe freagraíoch.

The staff were unresponsive.

Bhí an oiread teagmhála acu ag caitheamh ar an Bhliain Nua gan mórán ama dó.

They were so engaged in celebrating the New Year that they had little time for him.

Tugadh air labhairt go discréideach le cúpla othar eile.

He discreetly talked to a few other patients.

Bhí an ospidéal lán le hothair a raibh a scéalta féin acu.

The hospital was full of patients with their own stories.

D'fhoghlaim sé fíric tábhachtach ó Gerard, othar ainmhiúil ar a bhfuil dúil aige siúl timpeall na háite go minic.

He learned an important fact from Gerard, a notable patient who often liked to walk around the place.

"Chonaic mé fear ag órdú pile crotaí, bhí litir leis.

"I saw a man ordering a pile of croissants, he had a letter with him.

Bhí cuma air cosuil le cúiréire," a d'fhógair sé go heolach.

He looked like a courier," he announced knowledgeably.

Idir an dá linn, thóg Maeve an litir, a lámha bhí creathadh, agus d'oscail í.

Meanwhile, Maeve took the letter, her hands trembling, and opened it.

An tonn eile eagla, foghlaimníonn sí go mall, gach líne ag ligean solas ar nathanna a bhí curtha faoi na matas.

Another wave of fear, as she gradually learned, each line shedding light on expressions buried under the layers.

Bhí gach céim Cian níos cosúla le himscrúdaitheoir, agus choinnigh sé súil ar Gerard, cúis bhéisíd eachtraí anois comhdhlúthaithe le crankiness.

With each step, Cian became more like an investigator, keeping an eye on Gerard, whose tales were now compounded with crankiness.

Ach bhí rud éigin ciallmhar ina meascán focal.

But there was something sensible in his jumble of words.

Tháinig sé ar ais maidineach liom, áit ar chríochnaigh Maeve ag léamh - súile nimhneach ann.

He returned in the early morning, where Maeve finished reading - eyes filled with emotion.

"Ligare," ar sí, os ard, fara léirmheas as a súile,

"Ligare," she said out loud, with a gaze of revelation in her eyes,

"Bhí sé ag caint faoinár nDaid... rudaí nár éist muid leo roimhe seo.

"He talked about our Dad... things we hadn't listened to before.

Caithfimid labhairt faoi."

We need to talk about it."

Níor bhailigh an gcéad litir amháin é, ach bhí anifeonann éigin ag deireadh.

The first letter alone didn't gather it, but there was some unrest at the end.

Ní bheadh aon chinneadh fosta go ceann cúpla nóiméadach ar chrídhíreach, ní féidir nach raibh tábhacht aici sin.

No decision would be made for a few minutes that weren't entirely direct, ensuring its importance could not be denied.

D'fhan an cúltach as áit litir gan fógraíonn ceart - ach ba raibh rud nua ag an bhfaighteoir dola chun a gróige.

The letter kept its place, unnoticed - but there was something new for the recipient to ponder.

Níorbh fhéidearge Cian ar aghaidh faoi dheireadh an céim coimeád ó súil dá mhú saor in iomlán.

Ultimately, Cian couldn't move forward without keeping an eye on everything around.

Bhí gean ag ceacht céanna sin: taithí a bhfoghlaimíodh as an breiseán beider, agus tacú mar is cóir do dheartháir measardha a dearadh féin a thuig.

The same lesson had a fondness for all involved: to learn from the additional stories intertwined and to support a brotherly design that understood itself.

D'athraigh Cian agus Maeve as an am seo, agus cé gur bhain rún litir leis fós cuid dá gcroithe, tháinig an t-áthas orthu chun réitigh lena chéile faoi roimhe seo nár ghlac saor in iomlán iad.

Cian and Maeve changed from this time, and although the secret of the letter still held a part of their hearts, they found joy in reconciling past understandings that had not fully embraced them before.