âKaylaâ
â warning, sensitive content
Long chapter ahead
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The house felt unbearably quiet. Standing in the hallway of my childhood home, I could hear the low murmur of my siblings in the other room, but their voices felt distant, like they were underwater. I stared at the framed photos on the walls, pictures of a time when we were all younger when Mom was still healthy and full of life. It didn't feel real. None of this felt real.
I should be in there with them, helping make decisions about flowers, the service, and the reception. But instead, I was frozen here, staring at a picture of my mother holding me as a baby. My legs felt heavy, and my chest ached with every breath. I couldn't bring myself to step into that room and face the reality of what we were planning.
"Kayla, are you okay?" Brandon's voice broke through my haze. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his face etched with concern.
I nodded, though it was a lie. "Yeah, I'm fine," I whispered, my throat tight. I wasn't fine, but I couldn't break down now. Not yet.
Henry was looking at me with worry and what seemed like fear, as if he thought that now I was in my childhood home, a place that reminded me so much of Mom, I'd have another panic attack. I understood why he was worried. The last time he saw me like this was when Dad left, and when the realization kicked in, I had a severe panic attack and ended up in the hospital. It was so violent that it induced a two-day coma.
They were all traumatized by that event, and it took years to convince them that I was capable of taking care of myself and dealing with stress in a healthy way.
I followed Henry to the dining room, where Kate and Brandon sat. I looked at them and immediately felt bad. They looked exhausted, and here I was, adding to their stress with my panic attacks and my inability to stay calm. They probably hadn't even had time to grieve.
I sat beside Kate, and Henry sat at the head of the table. Brandon sat in front of me.
I held Kate's hand in mine, rubbing it gently with my thumb in a comforting manner. The silence around us was loud.
All of a sudden, Brandon started crying, unable to keep it together anymore. Henry immediately got up and went to comfort him, whispering something to him that I couldn't quite comprehend. I looked at Kate, and she was also on the verge of tears. I pulled her into a hug, caressing her back gently. After a little while, everyone calmed down, and Henry served us all a glass of cool water.
We all sat down together in the living room to talk about the funeral plans. Henry was the one taking charge, while Brandon tried to be supportive but felt a bit lost. Kate, being the emotional one, had a breakdown during the discussion.
Henry told us about possible funeral dates and said it would be good to bury her two days from today so we had time to prepare and inform family and friends. He also talked about the choice of flowers.
Sitting together to talk about her burial revealed our own emotional states. While Brandon and Kate cried and released their sadness in a logical way, I drifted in and out, unable to focus.
And Henry... I was starting to worry about him. He hadn't shed a tear, nor did he show any hint of sadness. Instead, he looked exhausted, lost, and empty.
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"We need to finalize the arrangements. The funeral home's asking for details," Henry said when he returned to the kitchen after spending some time outside. I hoped he had gone to cry, he really needed to. I've never seen him show his emotional side, not even when Dad left.
"I can't do this... I don't know how to say goodbye. It's too soon," Kate said as she broke down in tears again.
"We're all feeling the same, Kate, but we have to hold it together for Mom," Brandon responded.
I stayed mostly quiet, my voice shaking whenever I tried to speak. I felt guilty for not being there sooner and had this sudden fear that I would never live up to my mother's legacy.
Once again, Henry came to my rescue, stopping me from drowning in my thoughts.
Kate and Brandon went to bed early, leaving Henry and me in the living room. I went to bed shortly after, joining Kate in the room we shared as kids.
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The next day was a blur, as if I wasn't fully conscious. Henry left after breakfast and didn't return until around nine. He locked himself in his bedroom, likely going straight to bed.
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The night before the funeral, I woke up unable to sleep. I snuck downstairs to the kitchen, where I found Henry sitting with a cup of tea, looking exhausted. I poured myself a cup and sat beside him.
The silence was killing me, so I said what was on my mind.
"I don't think I'm strong enough for this. I should have been here sooner... maybe if I had..."
"Kay, you can't blame yourself. None of us were ready for this," Henry said.
I broke down in front of him, and for the first time, I let myself cry openly. Henry, though usually stoic, comforted me, reminding me that we're all hurting in our own ways.
When the funeral day finally arrived, the overcast sky mirrored the heaviness in my chest. Standing between my siblings, I clutched a small bouquet of lilies, numb as I stared at the casket, struggling to accept that Mom was really gone. The church was filled with people from her life, friends, extended family, coworkers.
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I stood in front of the casket, feeling like my legs were going to give out. I couldn't help but acknowledge her facial expression...so serene, so untroubled. At that moment, I recalled a memory of my mother. When she looked peaceful, that was before Dad left, and since that day, she never looked the same. But her heart never changed, and she remained the best mother.
The emotional impact deepened, awakening feelings I hadn't touched in so long.
"She was always my anchor, always the one I could lean on. How do I go on without her? How do any of us?"
The funeral went alright, and everyone was supportive, but the burial was the hardest part. We watched as the casket was lowered into the ground, and I felt as though a part of me was being buried with her. The pain inside me intensified.
"I can't do this... I can't watch them put her in the ground," Kate said through her tears.
"We have to, Kate. It's the only way we can start to heal," Brandon replied.
I stayed silent, overwhelmed with emotion, clutching our mother's old scarf, which I had brought with me for comfort.
Kate's sobs filled the air as she buried her face in her hands, while Brandon wrapped an arm around her. "I know it's hard," he murmured, his voice trembling, "but this is how we say goodbye."
I stood a few feet away, gripping my mother's scarf so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The familiar scent of her perfume lingered faintly on the fabric, a painful reminder of what I'd lost. As the casket lowered into the ground, I whispered, "Goodbye, Mom. I love you." A soft breeze swept through, carrying away our final unspoken words.
After the burial, we returned home, emotionally drained. We sat in the living room, surrounded by old family photos, sharing memories of Mom. For the first time, there was a sense of unity among us, even though the pain was still fresh.
Henry's words broke the silence.
"Remember when she used to make that ridiculous cake for our birthdays?" he said, smiling at the memory.
"It was always a disaster, but we loved it," Kate added, smiling through her tears.
"She never gave up on anything, no matter how hard it got," I said with a pained smile.
The conversation gave us a brief respite from our grief as we shared laughter and tears, remembering our mother's love and strength.
As I stood in the quiet of my old bedroom, surrounded by half-packed suitcases, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. Each item I folded...my favorite sweaters, a book I'd never finished seemed like remnants of a life I wasn't sure I could return to. The comfort of routine now felt foreign, like I was trying to fit into a version of myself that no longer existed.
I paused, looking around the room that held so many memories. The soft scent of lavender still lingered from the sachets Mom used to tuck in the drawers. I picked one up, bringing it to my nose as the ache in my chest grew sharper.
"I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to teaching like nothing's changed," I whispered, feeling the weight of the truth settle heavily in my heart. "Because everything has changed."
I tried to imagine standing in the lecture hall, going through lectures, smiling like I hadn't just buried the most important person in my life. The thought seemed impossible, like stepping into a play where I didn't know my lines anymore. Could I really stand there, pretending?
I sat down on the bed, staring at the suitcase. The idea of returning to my job felt absurd. I could almost hear Mom's voice urging me to keep going, to push forward, but the doubt lingered. How could I live a life that felt so empty without her?
My hands trembled as I held onto the scarf I had clung to during the burial. It still carried her warmth, her scent. Everything I did now would be marked by her absence, the quiet spaces she used to fill so effortlessly.
But even in the silence, I knew I couldn't stay here, frozen in grief. I had responsibilities waiting...students, colleagues, a life I'd built that still mattered. And maybe that's what Mom would want...for me to keep going, to continue finding meaning even in the face of loss. For her memory.
I folded the scarf carefully, placing it on top of my things before closing the suitcase.
"I have to try," I whispered, blinking back the tears. "For her. For me."
It was time to face the world again. Different, broken, but still trying.
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The doorbell echoed through the quiet house, cutting through the heavy air of grief like a sharp knife. Henry's brow furrowed as he got up from the worn leather armchair, the weight of the last few days etched into his features. He approached the door, half-expecting it to be a neighbor or a well-meaning friend offering condolences. But when he swung it open, he froze.
Standing there, just beyond the threshold, was a face I hadn't seen in years.
Our father.
A flood of emotions surged within me: disbelief, anger, resentment. his hand tightened on the doorknob as his jaw clenched.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Henry's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence of the house like a whip.
Our father stood there awkwardly, shifting on his feet, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his weathered coat. The man looked older than I remembered, the lines on his face deeper, his hair streaked with more gray. He swallowed, his voice shaky when he finally spoke.
"I... heard about your mother. I needed to come."
I stood frozen behind Henry, my heart pounding in my chest as the sight of our father. It couldn't be real. He wasn't supposed to be here. I know He wasn't part of our lives anymore. The man who had walked out on us, leaving our mother to pick up the pieces, didn't get to come back now. Not after all these years. Not after our mother was gone.
My grief twisted into something more jagged...an anger that threatened to consume me.
"You don't get to just show up now," my voice trembled as I stepped into view, my eyes blazing. "Where were you when we needed you?"
Our father's face crumpled at the accusation. His gaze flickered between Henry and me, and for a moment, he looked as though he might turn and leave. But then he sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair.
"I know I messed up," he admitted, his voice thick with regret. "I know I wasn't there. But I want to make things right. I'm sorry... for everything."
Henry stood still, the familiar scent of our father's old cologne stirring up memories he had tried to bury. He wanted to shout, to tell the man to leave, to remind him of all the nights we had cried ourselves to sleep wondering why he had left us. But words failed him. There was only the deafening silence of the house, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall.
My chest tightened as I stared at the man before us...the man who had caused us so much pain. My thoughts swirled in a chaotic storm, grief mingling with anger, confusion, and a desperate longing for closure.
But no words came.
The three of us stood there, trapped in the weight of the moment. The weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved. Outside, the world moved on, oblivious to the family now fractured by both the past and the present.
Henry swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper. "What do you want from us?"
Our father's eyes glistened, and for the first time in years, he looked broken. "A chance... to be your father again."
And in the stillness of the room, the only answer was silence.
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Hey lovely readers, what did you think about this chapter?
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I uploaded two chapters because I have been struggling with writer's block especially when it comes to Kaylas POV so I decided to write it all in two chapters and move on.
Until next time.