Chapter Four— Questions That Lingers
740 Words
By the time the last guest left, the house felt emptier than it ever had.
Not quieter.
Just… hollow.
Mia stood by the window, watching as the final car disappeared down the narrow road. The sky had darkened, clouds gathering like they had something left to say.
Behind her, the house carried the faint scent of perfume, dust, and something heavier — grief that hadn’t settled yet.
She wrapped her arms around herself.
It didn’t help.
“Are you okay?”
Daniel’s voice came from behind her.
She didn’t turn.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
There was a pause.
“I’ll make tea,” he added, like that would fix something.
Like small, normal things could still hold everything together.
Mia almost smiled.
Almost.
She turned slowly, leaning back against the window.
“Daniel…”
He stopped mid-step.
“There were people there today,” she said carefully. “People I’ve never seen before.”
His expression didn’t change.
But something in his eyes did.
A flicker.
Gone too quickly to name.
“They came to pay their respects,” he said.
Simple.
Too simple.
Mia frowned slightly.
“No,” she said quietly. “Not like that.”
Daniel didn’t respond this time.
And that silence said more than anything else.
Mia pushed herself off the window and walked further into the room.
“They didn’t look like they belonged here,” she continued. “They weren’t like neighbors or distant relatives. They were…” she hesitated, searching for the right word, “different.”
Still nothing from him.
Her chest tightened.
“Do you know them?”
Daniel finally looked at her.
Really looked this time.
And for a second — just a second — he seemed unsure.
“I’ve seen some of them before,” he admitted.
Mia’s breath caught slightly.
“Before?” she echoed. “Where?”
Another pause.
Then—
“With Dad.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Mia blinked.
“With Dad?” she repeated, softer this time.
Her mind struggled to connect the pieces.
Her father had always been… simple.
Quiet.
Predictable.
There was nothing about him that suggested anything beyond the life they knew.
Or at least… that’s what she thought.
“And you didn’t think to mention that?” she asked, her voice tightening just a little.
Daniel exhaled slowly.
“It wasn’t important.”
Mia let out a small, disbelieving breath.
“Not important?” she said. “Strangers show up to his funeral — people who clearly knew him — and it’s not important?”
Her voice didn’t rise.
But the emotion behind it did.
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had when he was uncomfortable.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” he said again, quieter this time.
Mia stared at him.
Really stared.
And for the first time, she felt it clearly.
He was holding something back.
Her thoughts drifted.
Back to the funeral.
To the unfamiliar faces.
And then…
To him.
The boy from school.
Standing there like he belonged.
Like none of it surprised him.
Mia swallowed.
“There’s something else,” she said.
Daniel’s shoulders tensed slightly.
“I saw someone,” she continued. “From school.”
He frowned.
“At the funeral?”
She nodded.
“He wasn’t just there,” she added slowly. “He fit in. Like… like he knew those people.”
Daniel’s expression darkened, just barely.
“Who?” he asked.
Mia hesitated.
“I don’t know his name.”
And that was the truth.
But somehow, that made it worse.
Silence stretched between them again.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Full of things neither of them were saying.
“I’m tired,” Mia finally said.
Not just physically.
In every way that mattered.
Daniel nodded.
“Get some rest,” he said.
But they both knew rest wouldn’t come easily.
Later that night, Mia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn’t come.
Not even close.
Her mind kept circling the same thoughts.
The strangers.
Daniel’s hesitation.
Her father.
And the boy.
Her chest tightened slightly.
That feeling again.
The same one from the exam hall.
The same one from before everything changed.
A quiet warning.
A feeling that something wasn’t right.
Mia turned onto her side, pulling the blanket closer.
But no matter how tightly she held onto it…
The unease didn’t leave.
And neither did the questions.
- Writer
