Heart and Track

-15-

☆꧁༒Louisa May Pearl༒꧂☆

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"I'm home," I said and Lily comes running to me as if something urgent. "What's wrong?" I ask her.

"It's dad..."

"Lily, what happened?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"It's dad... He's gone," she said, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face.

"What do you mean he's gone?" Panic surged through me as I grabbed her shoulders. "Did he leave? Did something happen?"

"No, Lou," she sobbed, shaking her head. "He's dead."

I staggered back, the room spinning around me. "How?" I barely managed to whisper.

"He overdosed," she cried. "I found him in the bathroom. I called an ambulance, but they said he was already gone."

I collapsed onto the nearest chair, my mind reeling. Despite everything, despite all the pain and anger, he was still my father. The reality of his death hit me like a freight train, and I felt a mix of grief and guilt wash over me. I don't even

"Lou, what are we going to do?" Lily asked, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "We'll figure it out, Lily. We'll get through this. Together." I pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly as she cried.

Arranging the funeral, dealing with the police, handling the logistics—it was all too much. But through it all, Myla was by my side, her unwavering support keeping me from falling apart.

The funeral was a small, somber affair. Our father didn't have many friends, and the few family members who attended were distant and cold. It felt like an end to a painful chapter, yet I couldn't shake the feeling of unfinished business.

The small chapel was sparsely filled with a few distant relatives and a couple of acquaintances, all of whom seemed to drift through the ceremony with a cold detachment that felt almost fitting. I stood by the casket, trying to come to terms with the reality of it all, while Lily clung to me, her tear-streaked face reflecting the pain we both felt. 

Just as the service was about to begin, the sound of footsteps drew my attention. I looked up to see Holden, accompanied by his parents, Richard and Margaret Collahan, entering the chapel. Holden's usual confidence was replaced with a somber expression, his eyes scanning the room until they settled on me. I could see the genuine concern etched into his face, contrasting sharply with the stiffness of his parents, who followed him quietly. I called him to tell about this too since he is the part of my life too. I just want him to know but never expect him to come and I'm glad he came.

Holden approached me, his demeanor respectful and compassionate. "Louisa," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

I nodded, unable to find the right words. The presence of Holden and his family added a layer of complexity to the already emotional day. "Thank you," I managed to reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

The ceremony was brief, marked by a few heartfelt words from a local priest and a somber procession to the cemetery. Holden and his parents followed behind us, their respectful silence a small comfort amidst the sorrow. At the graveside, the reality of the finality of death hit me once more. The cold, damp ground seemed to swallow the casket with an almost cruel finality.