Prologue
The air was thick with grief.
Under a cold gray sky, the grief hung like a mist over the graveyard. The murmurs of the living and the quiet of the dead blended into low whispers, muffled sobs, and the quiet swoosh of fabric against wetting grass.
Black umbrellas flowered like parched flowers over bent heads, protecting the mourners from the soft drizzle that fell like tears from an indifferent sky.
There was a small group of people. Strangers in name, united by common sympathy and sympathy. But there was one child who stood out.
Seven-year-old Jane stood by the side of the grave like a specter among the living still, silent, and completely alone.
Her small hand held a bouquet of white roses, the fragile petals shuddering in the cold wind, just as her hands shook from the burden of all that she couldn't yet comprehend.
Two coffins. Her parents coffins.
Together, like even in death, her parents had not wanted to be apart from one another. But they had left her and her brother behind.
Her throat was sore from suppressing the scream stuck deep within her chest.
Her eyes were parched, red and dry, too tired to cry another tear. Sadness stuck to her skin like damp clothes-unending, smothering.
She did not weep.
Not because she was not grieving but because she was hollow.
She had waited for them. Only a few days ago, she was doing artwork for them to be ready to surprise them upon their return from their overseas business trip.
She had marked the calendar, counting down days, circling the day of their return with hearts. And then, abruptly, everything ceased.
A phone call. A crash. A deafening silence that engulfed everything.
"They didn't make it," a man had spoken, his voice far away and unnatural. As if reciting a line from a play.
And Jane had glared at the direction of the man, attempting to make her head un-hear the words.
Now, she was there. Holding a roses she didn't want to give. Gazing at the coffins she hoped weren't real.
"They're orphans now," a woman whispered just behind her. "No relatives came forward. Not even one appeared at the funeral. What becomes of children when nobody wants them?"
Jane didn't budge.
Her little shoes were soaked from standing too long on the damp grass, but she didn't notice. Her eyes were fixed on the two coffins before her-on the roses she was still clutching with trembling fingers.
She already knew.
No one from their family had come.
Not one relative had stepped forward.
Not to hold her hand. Not to hug her brother. Not even to offer the most basic words of comfort.
They didn't show up. Because they didn't care.
Not really.
Her parents were gone, and suddenly, it was like she and her brother had disappeared with them. As if their existence only mattered when it was convenient.
Her small mind raced with thoughts that didn't quite form sentences. Questions bubbled up but never made it past her lips. She was too young to understand the full weight of abandonment-but she felt it, sharp and deep, like cold wind against exposed skin.
All she knew was that everyone who was supposed to care... didn't.
Her body was too exhausted. Her soul already frayed.
But then, warmth.
A shadow lay next to her, and a hand rested lightly on her shoulder. She jerked first, then turned her face towards him.
John.
Her brother of ten, her sole remaining family now, was standing tall next to her, though his eyes were giving away a tempest within. He smiled at her but it was the kind of smile born of broken shards and not happiness.
He bent before her, cradling her icy hands in his. She held the roses so tight that to let them go would break the last thread connecting her to their parents.
"Jane," he spoke softly, his voice choked with repressed tears, "It's time to say goodbye."
She blinked once at him, and for the first time, her mouth opened.
I don't want to," she whispered. Her voice was rough and sore. "I still want them to see me grow up... I want them to be old and gray and cheer when I get my dream job. I want them to be there... for everything.
John swallowed hard, feeling her hurt as his own because it was. He longed to say how he too yearned for the same. How he still craved his mom's hugs, his dad's counsel. That he wasn't ready to mature without them.
But what he did, he hugged her tighter.
"I know," he whispered in her hair. "I wanted all that too."
They remained like that for a time, two children huddled together in a world that had suddenly turned very cruel. The rain grew harder, but they didn't stir.
At last, he leaned back and met her gaze. "But they're gone. And even though they're not here... I am. I'm here for you, Jane. Always will be."
Her voice broke. "You won't leave me too, will you? You won't go away?"
"No," he replied, without hesitation. "Never. I swear to you, baby sis... we'll figure this out together. I'll take care of you. I'll be your family now."
Tears at last dripped down her face hot and bottomless. She let him brush them off with his sleeve.
"Come on," he coaxed, tightening his grip on her hand. "Let's leave them the flowers, okay? It's our turn to let them go."
With shaking fingers, Jane moved forward. She set the roses her mother loved on the smooth wood of the coffin. Her brother did the same.
And when the lid finally shut, something inside Jane shut with it.
As the ceremony concluded, everyone started to disperse, wandering off like mist. Jane and John stayed behind-two shadows standing beside two graves
The silence between them was dense but not vacant. It had every unspoken word, every silent vow.
John spoke up to her, his voice almost inaudible. "Let's go home?"
Jane gazed at the gravestones, then at him. Her complexion was wan, her eyes red from tears. "Yeah," she murmured. "Let's go... home."
But the word was broken. Home wasn't a place anymore. It was a person.
It was him.
John smiled weary and bittersweet he put an arm around her shoulders. Together, they walked away from the graves and down the muddy path, side by side, hand in hand.
Behind them, the dead lay.
Before them, the future loomed uncertain, dark, but theirs to meet.
And in the emptiness of her chest, Jane sensed a spark. Not quite hope. But perhaps the start of it.
