Lucia remained in the living room, sobbing uncontrollably, her tears streaming down her face a manifestation of her father's apathy and the deep sorrow she felt from Camellia's absence.
Meanwhile, in his study on the second floor, Mr. Smith approached his reading desk, his eyes falling upon a photo frame resting there. With smiling faces within: himself, his wife, a young, vibrant Camellia, and a cherubic Lucia.
He picked it up, his gaze lingered on Camellia as his hand unconsciously brushed over her image, a flicker of something unreadable regret? Longing?_ as his mind drifted into a blank space. A sigh left his lips, a sound heavy with unspoken emotion.
He placed the picture back on the desk and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him as he made his way to his bedroom.
U
