Chapter 2

 

It was as if heaven itself mourned the lives that had been lost.

 

Rows of black umbrellas surrounded the cemetery where family, friends, neighbors, and business associates had gathered to bid farewell to Kareem and Samira Hassan.

 

The two polished mahogany coffins rested side by side beneath a white canopy decorated with lilies—the couple's favorite flowers.

 

Amira stood between them, dressed in a simple black dress. Her eyes were swollen from crying, yet no more tears came.

 

She had cried until there were none left.

 

The world around her sounded distant.

 

The prayers...

 

The condolences...

 

The quiet sobs...

 

Everything felt like a dream she desperately wanted to wake up from.

 

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," another mourner whispered.

 

Amira simply nodded.

 

She couldn't find the strength to speak.

 

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder.

 

She turned to see an elderly man wearing a dark gray suit.

 

His silver hair was neatly combed, and his kind eyes were filled with sadness.

 

"Amira."

 

"Uncle Kareem..."

 

She recognized him immediately.

 

Mr. Kareem Sule had been her father's closest friend since university. Though not related by blood, he had always been welcomed into their home like family.

 

He opened his arms.

 

For the first time since hearing the terrible news, Amira allowed herself to lean into someone's embrace.

 

She buried her face against his shoulder.

 

"I miss them," she whispered.

 

"I know."

 

"It hurts."

 

"I know."

 

"I didn't even get to say goodbye."

 

Mr. Sule closed his eyes briefly.

 

"Your parents loved you more than anything in this world."

 

That simple sentence broke the wall she had been trying to build around her heart.

 

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

"I want them back."

 

"So do I."

 

Neither spoke again.

 

Some losses could never be repaired by words.

 

...

 

A few steps away, Greg Hassan watched the exchange quietly.

 

He wore a solemn expression that fooled nearly everyone present.

 

His wife, Nadia, dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

 

Their daughter, Tiffany, stood beside them, looking more uncomfortable than heartbroken.

 

"They were good people," a guest said to Greg.

 

Greg sighed deeply.

 

"My brother was like a father to me."

 

"I'll make sure Amira never feels alone."

 

The guests nodded approvingly.

 

"What a wonderful uncle."

 

"Kareem would be proud."

 

Greg lowered his head modestly, accepting their praise.

 

Only Nadia noticed the faint satisfaction hidden behind his grieving face.

 

...

 

The funeral service ended just before noon.

 

One by one, people placed white roses on the coffins.

 

When it was Amira's turn, she stepped forward slowly.

 

Her trembling fingers rested on the smooth wood of her mother's coffin first.

 

"Mum..."

 

Her voice cracked.

 

"You promised we'd make pancakes together next Sunday."

 

She swallowed hard before moving to her father's coffin.

 

"Dad..."

 

"You said we'd watch that movie."

 

Silence answered her.

 

She placed a single white rose on each coffin.

 

"I'll try to be brave."

 

"I promise."

 

The coffins were lowered into the earth.

 

Amira watched until they disappeared from sight.

 

Something inside her felt as though it had been buried with them.

 

...

 

That evening, Greg drove Amira to his home.

 

The journey was painfully quiet.

 

She stared out of the window as familiar streets disappeared behind them.

 

When they finally arrived, Greg forced a gentle smile.

 

"This is your home now."

 

Amira looked at the large two-story house.

 

It didn't feel like home.

 

Home was where her parents laughed.

 

Home smelled like her mother's cooking.

 

Home echoed with her father's terrible jokes.

 

This was simply a house.

 

Nadia opened the front door.

 

"We've prepared a room for you."

 

"Thank you," Amira replied softly.

 

Tiffany folded her arms.

 

"So we're sharing our house now?"

 

"Tiffany," Greg warned.

 

"What? I'm just asking."

 

Nadia quickly changed the subject.

 

"Come inside, dear."

 

Amira followed quietly.

 

The guest room was neat but cold.

 

Someone had placed a small vase of flowers on the bedside table.

 

Beside it sat a framed photograph.

 

It was the family picture taken on Amira's fifteenth birthday.

 

Her father had one arm around her.

 

Her mother was laughing at something outside the frame.

 

Amira picked up the picture carefully.

 

Her fingers traced their smiling faces.

 

"I miss you."

 

The room remained silent.

 

She hugged the frame against her chest and slowly sat on the bed.

 

For the first time that day, she allowed herself to cry where no one could see.

 

...

 

Later that night, downstairs, the atmosphere was very different.

 

Greg poured himself a glass of juice.

 

Nadia lowered her voice.

 

"She's asleep."

 

Greg nodded.

 

"What happens now?"

 

"We wait."

 

"For what?"

 

"The lawyer."

 

Nadia frowned.

 

"I thought your brother left everything to you."

 

Greg's expression hardened.

 

"I don't know."

 

"He always trusted that lawyer too much."

 

"What if the money isn't yours?"

 

Greg stared into his glass.

 

"It will be."

 

"One way or another."

 

Neither of them noticed Tiffany standing quietly behind the hallway wall.

 

She had heard every word.

 

Not because she understood it...

 

But because she was curious.

 

Upstairs, unaware of the conversation below, Amira finally drifted into a restless sleep.

 

Clutching the family photograph tightly against her chest, she dreamed of one last breakfast with her parents.

 

A breakfast that would never come again.