The church smelled like lilies.
Too many of them, their sweetness hung heavy in the air pressing against Elena's temples until her head throbbed. Someone had set vases on every surface including the altar, lining the pews and clustered near the casket at the front. She used to love flowers but today the scent made her stomach turn.
She sat in the front row stiff in a black dress her aunt had bought in a rush her hands folded in her lap like she was being punished.
The fabric itched at the back of her neck.
She hadn't slept, not really just drifted in and out of dreams that ended the same way: Sophia's hand flung across her chest, blood on her temple, her voice fading into silence.
It had been only four days since the accident. Four days, and somehow the world had arranged itself into a funeral. Elena didn't understand how time could move forward when she hadn't.
She stared at the framed photo propped on an easel near the pulpit. Sophia's graduation pictures, the cap crooked on her head her grin lopsided and full of mischief. The photographer had scolded her for not standing properly, but Sophia had laughed and said, "It's me or nothing."
That grin felt like a punch now.
Her father sat beside her shoulders rigid eyes fixed straight ahead. His hands were folded so tightly in his lap that his knuckles blanched white. He hadn't spoken much that morning, just hovered as Elena dressed, as they got into the car, as they entered the church under the heavy gazes of people she didn't know. He was holding himself together with threads and Elena didn't know whether she wanted him to break or stay strong.
The pastor cleared his throat. His voice filled the church steady and practiced. He said words like "gone too soon," "bright light," "beloved daughter and sister." Words that floated over Elena without touching her.
She lowered her eyes watching the polished black shoes of the mourners shifting in the aisles, the faint creak of wooden pews as people leaned forward. Whispered prayers blended with the rustle of tissues, and somewhere a baby cried, the sound loud and alive in a room that felt anything but.
Her friends sat two pews back; Aliyah with her hair braided neat and tight, Kayla dabbing at her eyes, Jenna staring fixedly at the hymnal clutched in her hands. Elena felt their eyes on her once maybe twice. Aliyah caught her gaze and gave a small wave, a flicker of comfort. Elena forced herself to nod back but it felt like she was moving someone else's head. She didn't even have the energy to return the smile.
During the service teachers and neighbors stepped up to the pulpit to share memories.
Mrs. Tran from next door spoke about Sophia mowing her lawn every summer refusing payment and calling it "Good neighborly deeds."
One of Sophia's past debate teammates recounted how she had stayed up all night helping him practice for a competition even though she had her own speech to prepare.
The stories were good ones, kind ones. But they felt distant like they belonged to a stranger who just happened to share Sophia's name. The sister Elena had known who was loud, stubborn, occasionally reckless, always protective wasn't in those stories. That Sophia was gone, and no number of words could ever bring her back.
When it was her father's turn he walked slowly to the pulpit. Elena's chest clenched at the sight of him standing there, one hand braced against the wood as if he needed its strength to keep upright.
"When their mother passed," he began, his voice thick, "Sophia was twelve. Elena was eight. I—I didn't know how to be everything they needed, Sophia stepped in without being asked. She cooked whenever I'd burned dinner, she helped Elena with her homework, she even scolded me sometimes and half the time she was right."
A ripple of gentle laughter moved through the room, and he closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips together. When he opened them again, they shone wet.
"She carried more than her share," he continued softly. "And she never complained. She made us stronger. She made me stronger. And now, without her I... I don't know how we'll keep going but we will because she'd expect us to, For Elena's sake and mine."
His voice cracked on the last words. He stepped down quickly, shoulders hunched and slid back into his seat beside Elena. His hand brushed against hers on the pew and she let it stay there, though she felt nothing but the tremor in his touch.
Then the pastor spoke again, and Elena's name floated into the air.
The sound of it startled her.
For a moment she didn't understand. Then the meaning hit: it was her turn, Her turn to stand in front of everyone and speak.
Her lungs squeezed tight.
She could feel her friend's eyes, the pitying gazes of neighbors, the expectant hush of the crowd. She should stand. She should walk to the front and tell them something—about the time Sophia pushed her bicycle up a hill for an hour because Elena's chain had snapped, or about how Sophia used to sing to her when she had nightmares. She should honor her sister.
But when she tried to move her legs locked, her throat closed. A buzzing filled her ears drowning everything else. The pulpit blurred, the photo of Sophia grinned at her mocking her silence.
"Elena?" the pastor said again, gentle.
Her father's hand pressed against her own. She shook her head small, almost imperceptible. His hand squeezed once in understanding.
She didn't stand.
The pastor nodded moving smoothly on calling someone else forward. Relief and shame twisted in her chest until she thought she might be sick.
⸻
At the graveside the air was damp and cool. Clouds hung low and the ground squished underfoot soft from days of rain. The casket looked obscene—too polished, too sure of itself. The white rose Elena held trembled in her hand.
People stepped forward one by one dropping their flowers onto the wood with soft thuds. When it was her turn, she froze. Her grip tightened around the stem until the thorns pricked her skin. She didn't want to let go. Letting go felt like betrayal.
But her father's hand touched the small of her back gentle and urging. She leaned forward fingers loosening. The rose slipped from her hand and landed among the others rolling once before settling into place.
Something inside her fractured with the sound.
Afterward in the reception hall tables were lined with trays of sandwiches, cookies, and coffee. The chatter of voices filled the space muffled and low. People either hugged her or squeezed her shoulders lightly in an attempt to show her comfort but none of those things mattered. They said things like "She was so loved" and "You're so strong." Elena nodded through all of it without really processing their words.
Her friends approached together, a small cluster of black dresses and red-rimmed eyes. Aliyah spoke first, voice soft. "Elena... I'm so sorry...We all are."
Kayla sniffled wiping her nose. "She was amazing. Remember at the fair last summer? She dragged us on that awful ride, the one that spun in circles until I thought I'd die?" A shaky laugh escaped her.
Jenna nodded. "She was... she was the best."
They all looked at Elena, waiting.
She forced her lips into something that resembled a smile. "Thanks," she whispered. Her voice felt brittle, like glass that could crack with one more word.
Aliyah reached out as if to hug her, but stopped when Elena didn't move. Instead she gave a small, sad nod and stepped back.
They drifted away after that, voices hushed, glancing back at her with worry she didn't bother to acknowledge.
Elena wandered toward the photo board. Pictures of Sophia from every stage of her life smiled back: Sophia in braided pigtails holding their mom's hand; Sophia with a debate trophy; Sophia and Elena at the lake, sunburned and laughing. The last photo was the hardest—Sophia at graduation standing tall, diploma in hand and her grin defiant.
Elena reached out fingertips brushing the edge of the frame. She wanted to press her hand flat against the image, to step through it, to pull her sister back. But the glass was cold and unyielding.
Her father appeared beside her his face drawn, his tie loosened. He didn't say anything. He just set his hand on her shoulder steady and warm, and for a moment that was enough.
⸻
That evening, when they returned home the house felt heavier than ever. Elena went straight to her room stripped off the funeral dress and sat on the edge of her bed. Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand.
A message from Aliyah: "I meant it, okay? We're here for you."
Elena stared at it for a long time. Then she set the phone face down without replying.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfzPBtSmHOQ
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and then Add to home screen.