They say the rain is heaven weeping, but I know better. Heaven didn't cry for my mother — I did. Alone.
The sky wept in quiet sheets, drenching the earth and turning mourners into a sea of blurred black umbrellas. I stood still under mine, trembling fingers clutching the cold handle, my gaze locked on the polished wooden coffin. My mother's coffin. The priest's voice echoed through the mist, but the words didn't reach me. They felt like fog — distant, weightless. My mother was gone. The thought circled endlessly in my mind, never sinking in, never releasing its grip.
Where do not begin without her. The thought repeated itself in my mind like a mantra, refusing to sink in. I couldn't cry. Not today. I had shed every tear in hospital corridors, on sleepless nights when silence swallowed our home whole. I had broken down enough for a lifetime — and yet I still felt broken.
A bouquet of white lilies trembled in my grasp. Her favorite. The last thing I could give her. I should've been there when she slipped away — but she died in a sterile room, with beeping machines for company. Dad wasn't even there. Just me. Just me and the sound of her leaving.
A warm hand touched my arm. I turned and met my father's bloodshot eyes. Grief carved deep lines into his face as he pulled me into a tight embrace. I let him, feeling like glass in his arms. "Daddy," I whispered, the word barely audible over the rain. He nodded against my shoulder, then slowly released me. His gaze swept the crowd of mourners. Familiar faces. Family. Neighbors. People whose lives she had touched.
But one face didn't belong. Mirabel. My mother's closest friend. Her face looked carved from porcelain — flawless, untouched by grief. Her tailored black dress hugged her frame too perfectly. Her red lips didn't quiver. Her eyes, though... they were fixed on me. Unblinking. Intense. She offered a polite smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. A shiver raced down my spine. Was it just my grief playing tricks on me? Or did something about her feel… off?
The rest of the funeral blurred — hymns, prayers, hollow words. My father wrapped an arm around me, his voice a whisper in my ear. "We'll get through this, Nina. Together." But as I glanced at Mirabel again, standing apart from the others, something in my gut twisted. Could we really face this together?
The priest's final Amen echoed through the mist. One by one, mourners stepped forward, dropping roses onto the coffin and walking away. My turn came. I stepped forward on shaking legs and dropped the lilies onto the lowered casket. The petals landed with a soft whisper. "I love you, Mama," I whispered. My throat burned. "And I will find out what really happened to you."
As I turned to leave, Mirabel met my eyes again. Her expression unreadable. Then, she smiled — but this time, it was different. Calculated. Sharp. Like she knew something I didn't. The chill in my bones deepened. Something wasn't right. Her mask of sympathy was too perfect. Her presence at the funeral too... controlled. And deep down, I knew — this funeral wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.
I felt a sense of unease as I walked away from the grave. The rain seemed to be coming down harder now, drumming against my umbrella like a warning. I glanced back at Mirabel, but she was already turning away, her eyes scanning the crowd with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
What was she looking for? And what did she know that I didn't?
As we walked back to the car, my father's arm around me, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into a storm. A storm that would change everything.
The drive home was quiet. My father and I didn't say much, lost in our own thoughts and grief. I stared out the window, watching the rain-soaked streets blur by. The world seemed gray and unforgiving, a reflection of the emptiness I felt inside.
When we arrived home, I was surprised to see that the house was filled with people. Friends and family members had gathered to offer their condolences and share stories of my mother's life. I felt overwhelmed, but my father took charge, greeting guests and thanking them for coming.
I retreated to my room, feeling exhausted and drained. I lay down on my bed, surrounded by the familiar comforts of my childhood. But even in the midst of all this comfort, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
Mirabel's words kept echoing in my mind. "Take care of yourself, Nina." What did she mean by that? Was she just being kind, or was there something more to her words?
Her smile, her words, everything about her seemed calculated and controlled. I wondered if she was just trying to be strong for my mother's sake, or if there was something more to her behavior.
I thought back to the times I had seen Mirabel and my mother together. They had always seemed close, but there were moments when I had caught Mirabel looking at my mother with a strange intensity. It was as if she was studying her, trying to understand her.
I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized that I might never know what really happened between Mirabel and my mother. But I was determined to find out. I would start by talking to my father, seeing if he had noticed anything strange about Mirabel's behavior.
As I lay there, I heard the sound of footsteps outside my room. It was my father. He came in and sat down beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey, kiddo," he said softly. "How are you doing?"
I shrugged, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I'm okay, I guess," I said, trying to sound brave.
My father nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's going to be tough, Nina," he said. "But we'll get through it together. Okay?"
I nodded, feeling a sense of comfort wash over me. My father was right. We would get through this together.
But as I looked up at him, I saw something in his eyes that made my heart skip a beat. A flicker of uncertainty. A hint of fear.
"What is it, Dad?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated, looking away from me. "It's just...I don't know, Nina," he said finally. "I feel like something's off. Like there's something we're missing."
I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized that my father might know more than he was letting on. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice a little louder now.
My father looked at me, his eyes serious. "I don't know, Nina," he said again. "But I think we need to be careful. We don't know what we're dealing with here."
I nodded, feeling a sense of determination wash over me. I was going to find out what really happened to my mother, no matter what it took.
Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, I heard a faint noise coming from outside my window. At first, I thought it was just the wind or the rain, but then I heard it again - a soft scratching sound.
My heart began to beat faster as I threw off the covers and got out of bed. I crept over to the window and pulled back the curtain, peering out into the darkness.
And that's when I saw her. Mirabel. Standing in the shadows, looking up at my window.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. I felt a chill run down my spine as I realized that Mirabel was watching me.
And then, she mouthed a single word: "Run."
Suddenly, she turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving me with more questions than answers. What was she trying to warn me about? And what did she know about my mother's death?
I stood there, frozen in shock, as the rain continued to pour down outside. And then, I heard the sound of footsteps coming from downstairs. My father's footsteps.
"Nina, are you okay?" he called out, his voice muffled by the door.
I hesitated, unsure of what to say. Should I tell him about Mirabel? Or should I keep it to myself?
As I stood there, trying to make a decision, I heard the sound of my phone buzzing on my nightstand. I picked it up, and my heart sank as I saw the message on the screen:
"They're watching you. Be careful."