The weekend arrived too soon. The morning of the funeral dawned pale and subdued, the sky a sheet of muted gray. Even the air felt heavier — damp earth, cut grass, and the faint sweetness of lilies spilling from the open doors of St. Helena's Church. The bell tolled low and steady, echoing across the courtyard like a heartbeat.
Sofia stepped out of the car, her black dress brushing her knees, modest but elegant, her hair swept into a low chignon. Adam stayed close, his hand at the small of her back — steady, not pushing, but there.
Gwen joined them immediately, linking her arm through Sofia's. Anne and Elise emerged from the next car, their eyes soft and full of concern, and came straight to her side, the cold gravel crunching beneath their heels.
Anne whispered, "We're here, Sof," slipping her fingers through Sofia's free hand.
Elise nodded, her own voice tight. "All of us. You're not alone."
Sofia blinked rapidly. "Thank you," she murmured, the words catching in her throat.
