Chapter 2
The silence that followed Derek’s question felt heavier than the white coffin itself. Lily did not drop her gaze. She pulled the rag doll even closer to her chest, the fabric groaning under the pressure of her small, desperate grip. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, every movement deliberate and terrified.
“Uncle Derek hurt Mommy!” Lily screamed, the volume cracking her voice into a jagged shriek that bounced off the high ceiling. “Grandma took her phone!”
Elena flinched as if she had been physically struck. Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling into tight fists against the intricate lace of her mourning dress. She cast a desperate, sideways glance toward the corner of the room where Grandfather sat in his gray polo and thick-rimmed glasses.
Grandfather didn’t flinch. Strapped into his wheelchair, his knuckles gripped the armrests so hard his skin turned translucent. His jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line. With a sudden, violent jerk, he raised his right arm and pointed a trembling, arthritic finger directly at Derek. His eyes bulged behind his glasses, filled with a cold, terrifying fury that needed no translation.
Derek didn’t look at the old man. His bruised face remained impassive, though a muscle feathered nervously in his jaw. He kept his eyes locked on Lily, his expression a mask of manufactured concern that didn’t reach his dark, calculating eyes.
“She’s hallucinating,” Elena insisted, stepping smoothly between Derek and the child. Her voice was too steady now, slipping from panic into control. “The fever, the accident… it’s all tangled in her head. Derek wasn’t even here last night. You know that, Father.”
Grandfather let out a low, guttural growl from the back of his throat. He couldn’t speak clearly anymore—the stroke had stolen most of his words—but his pointing finger remained steady, an unmovable accusation directed straight at his son.
Lily backed away, her bare feet padding softly against the wood until she hit the heavy base of a floral arrangement. Petals rained down around her like colored snow, landing on her shoulders and in her tangled hair. She looked down at the floor, then back up at the adults who towered over her.
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“I saw it,” Lily whispered, her voice dropping to a fragile pitch that somehow carried further than her screams. “Mommy’s phone was ringing. Grandma grabbed it. Then Mommy wasn’t breathing.”
Derek finally shifted his weight, his black leather shoes squeaking faintly on the floorboards. He looked down at his bruised hand, flexing his fingers as if checking to ensure they still worked. The bruise on his jaw throbbed in time with his pulse, a visible receipt from a struggle that no one else was supposed to remember.
