Amber eyes in the dark

Chapter 2 Nothing lasts forever

Annabelle’s POV

I cried until my chest hurt. It felt as though my tears had run dry, yet somehow they kept falling. Food didn’t taste like anything that dayI couldn’t eat, couldn’t even drink. The world felt broken, tilted, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

The house seemed too quiet. Every sound, every silence reminded me of what was gone. I still expected to hear Mama humming in the kitchen or Daddy calling me “my sunshine.” But all that was left were echoes and the soft ticking of the clock that no one cared to stop.

What would happen to us now? I was only twelve. Bella was fifteen. We were just children trying to hold ourselves together while the most important people in our lives were gone forever.

Every night I cried until I fell asleep, and every morning I woke up hoping it had all been a bad dream.

Bella tried to be strong for me. She cooked, cleaned, and told me stories even when her eyes were swollen from crying. Sometimes she would whisper, “It’s okay, Annabelle. We still have each other.” I would nod, but deep down, I wondered how long that would last.

A Week Later

The days dragged by long, heavy, and empty. One afternoon, I sat by the window, staring at the gate. My thoughts kept spinning in circles. What would become of us now? Would life ever be normal again?

A sudden honk broke the silence. The creak of the gate followed, and I peered out. A red Golf rolled in,it was my uncle’s car. Right behind it came a sleek black Benz I didn’t recognize. My heart skipped.

Maybe Uncle had come to visit us, maybe with good news. He was my father’s elder brother, and now the only family we had left. I ran downstairs quickly, eager to see him.

But when I reached the living room, it was empty. I paused, confused, and then heard faint voices coming from the backyard.

Curious, I tiptoed closer. There was my uncle, tall and serious, walking beside the man with the black Benz. He was talking and pointing at the walls, the roof, the garden. His words drifted toward me, calm and businesslike.

Then I understood. He wasn’t just showing the man around. He was showing him our house—my parents’ house.

I froze, my heart hammering.

When the man left, shaking my uncle’s hand, I stepped forward. “Uncle… are you selling my daddy’s house?” My voice was small and shaky.

He looked at me, not angry, just matter-of-fact. “Yes, I am,” he said. “We need the money urgently.”

The words hit me like cold water.

“So… where will Bella and I stay?” I whispered.

“You’ll come live with me,” he replied. “Your cousins will keep you company. You’ll be fine.”

The words sounded kind, but they didn’t feel kind. They sounded final, like a door closing.

When he left, the sound of his car faded slowly until it was just silence again. Bella came to stand beside me. I didn’t have to tell her what had happened. She looked at the empty driveway, then at me, and nodded slowly.

We didn’t say a word. We just went upstairs and began folding our clothes. One by one, we packed our things into boxes,our school uniforms, old toys, Mama’s scarf that still smelled like her perfume. Each thing we packed felt like saying goodbye to a piece of our lives.

We had one more week to stay in the house before the burial. One more week surrounded by memories—laughter that once filled the rooms, the smell of Sunday dinners, the echo of our parents’ voices.

And then we would leave it all behind.

The burial came sooner than I expected. The morning sky was gray, heavy with clouds. Bella and I dressed in black, holding hands the entire time.

The church was full. The priest’s voice echoed as he spoke of eternal rest and peace, but his words floated over me like air. My eyes stayed fixed on the two caskets at the front—my parents, lying side by side.

When they were lowered into the ground, I felt something inside me sink too. I wanted to scream, to beg them to wake up, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was stare as the earth covered them, inch by inch, until they were gone.

People came to comfort us, but their voices blurred together. I heard someone say, “They’re in a better place.” I wanted to shout that their better place was with us.

That night, after everyone left, Bella and I sat in silence. “Do you think Mama can see us?” I asked.

Bella wiped her tears and forced a smile. “She can. She’s watching us right now.”

I wanted to believe her. I needed to.

When we moved into Uncle’s house, everything felt strange. It was big and beautiful, but cold. My aunt greeted us politely but without warmth. “You’re safe here,” she said, and smiled, though her eyes didn’t. My cousins stood behind her, whispering to each other.

Our new room was small, tucked at the back of the house. Bella and I arranged our things quietly. It didn’t feel like home. It felt borrowed like a place we were allowed to stay in but didn’t belong to.

At dinner, everyone talked except us. My uncle asked about school, my cousins chatted about a new cartoon, and my aunt reminded them to eat their vegetables. Bella and I ate in silence. I missed Mama’s laughter, Daddy’s stories, and the way our dining table used to feel alive.

Later that night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. “Bella,” I whispered, “do you think we’ll be happy here?”

She was quiet for a moment before answering, “We’ll try to be.”

Days passed, and I began to see things more clearly. My cousins were friendly when Uncle was around, but cold when he wasn’t. My aunt sighed whenever we entered the room. Even my uncle’s tone changed kind in public, distant at home.

I missed everything about our old life, Mama’s cooking, Daddy’s silly jokes. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could still hear them laughing. But when I opened them, the silence hurt even more.

One evening, as the sun was setting, Bella joined me on the veranda. The light made her face look older, as if she’d grown years in just weeks.

“Annabelle,” she said softly, “promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise you’ll never forget them. No matter what happens here.”

I nodded slowly. “I promise.”

She smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened. “Good. Because sometimes I feel like this house wants us to forget.”

Her words sank deep into me. Later that night, I looked up at the stars and whispered, “Mama, Daddy, I won’t forget. I promise.”

The wind brushed against my face softly, almost like a reply.

For a moment, I felt peace. But even then, a quiet voice inside me whispered the truth,one I would come to understand over and over again.

Nothing good lasts forever.