A heavy silence settled over the cemetery. Several relatives lowered their eyes. My godmother pressed both hands over her mouth. Even the priest quietly looked away, unwilling to witness what had just happened.
For one brief moment, I wanted to hit him. I wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face before another word left his mouth. But then I felt a tiny hand wrap around mine. April. She squeezed my fingers so tightly that my anger dissolved into something even heavier: heartbreak.
When I looked down at the girls, something immediately felt wrong. Lucy wasn’t crying. That frightened me more than anything Arthur had said. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t begging her father to stay. She simply watched him with a calm, unreadable expression that no twelve-year-old should ever have.
Then she turned toward Rachel. Rachel looked back. Finally, both of them glanced at little April. The three sisters exchanged a silent understanding. No words. No tears. Just one look.
