During my father’s wake, my eight-year-old sister stood beside his coffin without saying a word. Everyone

The room felt colder than it should have, given the flickering candles casting their wavering light. I hesitated at the threshold, my heart racing, unsure whether to interrupt the scene before me. Lily’s quiet whispers seemed to hang in the heavy air, filling it with an eerie tension. I strained to catch her words, but they slipped away like shadows.

Rebecca’s eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and realization, flicked from Lily to me. It was as if a silent understanding passed between us — an acknowledgment of some unspoken truth that hovered just out of reach.