Waiting.
Waiting for the confession that would never come.
Louise's POV
"Now that you’re finally seeing things clearly, confess," my mother urged, her voice quivering with fragile hope. "Do it for Chelsea." Every syllable carried the weight of her sorrow and longing, her anguish bleeding through her words.
Tears clouded my vision as I gazed at Chelsea’s photo—propped delicately atop her coffin. I could almost hear her again—gentle, vibrant, full of life.
"My beautiful Auntie! Come on, play with your adorable niece!"
Her giggles echoed in my ears, so vivid it felt like she was still here. I saw her jumping onto my bed, laughter spilling from her lips as she planted kisses on my cheeks.
"Come on, wake up! Let’s play already!"
I used to hold her close, tickling her until she squealed with delight, the room bursting with joy and warmth.
Now, only silence remained.
An empty ache expanded in my chest. My throat constricted, and before I could stop myself, I broke into sobs.
"Please, Louise," my mother implored again.
"Tell us the truth, Louise," Charlene added, her voice cracked and desperate.