The days that followed Richard's death were a blur of grief and healing.
Elara moved through the motions, her body present but her mind elsewhere. She had lost her father not once, but twice. The first time, she had mourned the man she thought he was. The second time, she mourned the man he had become.
Julian was her anchor, his love a constant presence at her side. He didn't push her to talk. He didn't demand that she move on. He simply waited, patient and supportive, letting her grieve in her own time.
"The funeral is tomorrow," he said one evening, his voice soft. "Are you sure you want to go?"
Elara nodded, her eyes distant. "I need to. I need to say goodbye."
"I'll be right there with you."
She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "I know. Thank you."
The funeral was smal
