The faint glow of candles filled the room with a soft, trembling light, their golden halos dancing along the polished wooden walls of the chapel. The scent of white lilies mingled with the wax, creating an atmosphere both sacred and fragile. Outside, the evening wind sighed against the windows, carrying the echo of a world that continued to move even as ours had stopped.
It was the evening of my father’s wake. Friends, relatives, and neighbors had gathered, whispering condolences in hushed tones, exchanging glances that spoke of sympathy and quiet discomfort. But I wasn’t really hearing them.
My attention was fixed on the small figure standing near the front of the room — my eight-year-old sister, Lily. She stood beside the coffin, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze steady and strangely calm. The hem of her dress brushed against her ankles as the candlelight danced across her face.
She didn’t cry, didn’t fidget, didn’t move. She simply stood there, as if she were listening to something the rest of us couldn’t hear. Something about the scene made the air feel thick, almost electric.
I started to walk closer, but a gentle hand on my arm stopped me. It was Rebecca — my stepmother. Her face was pale, her eyes red from tears, and yet there was something in her expression that went beyond grief.
It was unease. Fear, even. She squeezed my arm slightly, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Let her be for a moment.”
I nodded but couldn’t look away.
Then Lily leaned forward slightly, resting her tiny hand on the polished edge of the coffin. Her lips moved — slowly, deliberately — forming words too quiet for anyone else to hear. The chapel seemed to fall completely silent.
Even the murmurs of the mourners faded, as if the room itself was holding its breath. A Whisper Beyond Words
Her whispering went on for several minutes. No one interrupted.
My mother had passed years ago, and my father’s sudden death had left us reeling — but Lily, in her small and unassuming way, seemed to know exactly what to say. Rebecca’s hands began to shake. The color drained from her face as her eyes darted from Lily to the coffin, then back again.
I could almost feel her heartbeat from where I stood. Something about that moment unsettled her deeply. Finally, Lily stopped whispering and looked up.
Her gaze locked with Rebecca’s, and for a long second, neither moved. The tension in the room became unbearable — as though something long buried was about to break free. I stepped closer, my pulse quickening.
The flicker of candlelight seemed to slow time itself. And then Rebecca whispered — almost to herself — “She knows.”
Her words sliced through the silence like a blade. Heads turned.
A few guests looked confused, unsure if they had heard correctly. But Rebecca’s trembling voice left no doubt. “She knows,” she repeated, backing up a step, her fingers twisting the hem of her dress.
“She… she can’t possibly know.”
My heart lurched. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly as I moved closer to Lily. Rebecca didn’t answer right away.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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