The church smelled like old wood, lilies, and lies.
The same mourners from Leia’s funeral filled the pews again — different clothes, same haunted faces.
Ryan sat between Evan and Chloe, elbows brushing, all three locked in a tight, silent chain like if they let go, they might drift into the abyss.
The priest droned on at the front, his voice a hollow, reedy thing no one really heard.
Everyone was too busy watching each other.
Too busy whispering behind their hymnals.
Too busy wondering how the f**k it all went so wrong.
Chloe shifted in her seat, the black dress she wore hanging loose off her too-thin frame.
Her hand found Ryan’s, squeezing hard.
⸻
Keeley’s mother stood stiff by the side aisle, the very picture of grief boiled over into full-bore, gleeful fury.
Tight black dress
