Orchards and Moonlight - a Mialotte story (TNN)

The final goodbye

Autumn and Reece sat together at the dining room table, a pile of paperwork and a funeral brochure between them. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of paper or the ticking of the wall clock. After days of grappling with their father's death, they were finally ready to confront the task of planning his funeral, a chapter of their lives they were both eager to close.

Autumn's face was calm, but her eyes held a mixture of resolve and weariness. She had always referred to him as "Father," a title that reflected the emotional distance between them. For her, this process wasn't about mourning a beloved parent but about finding closure for years of unresolved pain.

Reece, on the other hand, had a more complicated relationship with their father. The memories of disappointment and neglect were still fresh in his mind, but so was the lingering hope that things might have been different. Now, that hope was gone, and all that remained was the need to put the past to rest.

"We should keep it simple," Autumn said, her voice steady but low. "He didn't have many friends left, and I doubt anyone would want a big service."

Reece nodded, flipping through the brochure absentmindedly. "Yeah, simple is best," he agreed. "Just a small service, a few words, and then we can move on."

They discussed the details—location, music, who would speak—all with the same sense of detachment. It wasn't that they didn't care; it was that they had spent so much of their lives caring too much, holding on to the hurt and the anger. Now, they were both ready to let it go.

"What about the eulogy?" Reece asked, looking up from the brochure. "Should one of us say something?"

Autumn thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "I don't think either of us needs to. We've said all we needed to say to him, even if he never heard it. This isn't about making peace with him—it's about making peace with ourselves."

Reece leaned back in his chair, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "You're right," he said softly. "We've spent too long letting him have power over us. It's time to let it go."

They sat in silence for a while, the finality of their decision settling in. Planning the funeral was a necessary step, but it was also symbolic of something much larger—the end of an era, the closing of a chapter that had defined so much of their lives.

When they finished, Autumn reached across the table and took Reece's hand. "We'll get through this," she said quietly. "And when it's over, we'll be free."

Reece squeezed her hand in return, a small but significant gesture of solidarity. "Yeah," he said, his voice filled with a mix of relief and determination. "We will."

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The funeral had been as understated as Autumn and Reece had planned. There were no speeches, no long eulogies—just a few brief words from a distant relative and a pastor who barely knew the man they were laying to rest. The few attendees, mostly old acquaintances and distant family members, had gathered out of obligation rather than genuine grief. The atmosphere was somber, but more out of decorum than true sorrow.

Autumn and Reece stood at the edge of the grave as the casket was lowered into the ground, their faces expressionless. For years, their father had cast a long shadow over their lives, but now that shadow was finally gone. They had no tears to shed for him, only a deep sense of relief that this chapter of their lives was coming to an end.

As the last of the mourners drifted away, Autumn and Reece remained, their eyes fixed on the freshly turned earth. The grey sky above mirrored the mood of the day, a dull, overcast blanket that seemed to absorb any remaining warmth.

"It's hard to believe it's really over," Autumn said, breaking the silence. Her voice was quiet, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "All those years of dealing with his demands, his expectations... and now it's just done."

Reece nodded, his gaze distant. "Yeah. It's strange. I thought I'd feel something more... significant. But all I feel is... empty. And maybe that's the saddest part of all."

Autumn turned to look at her brother, seeing the weariness in his eyes. "We spent so much time trying to live up to his standards or at least trying to avoid his disappointment. And now that he's gone, it feels like all of that was for nothing."

Reece sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He never really cared about us, did he? Not in the way a father should. We were just... extensions of his ambition. Tools to be used."

Autumn felt a flicker of old anger rise within her, but it was quickly extinguished by the overwhelming sense of closure that was settling in. "He missed out on so much," she said softly. "He missed out on being a father, on being a grandfather. And now... it's too late for him to realize what he's lost."

A gust of wind stirred the fallen leaves around their feet, and Autumn wrapped her coat tighter around herself. "I'm sorry he'll never know his grandchildren," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "But maybe it's better this way. They deserve better than the man he was."

Reece glanced at her, his expression softening. "We deserved better too," he said gently. "But we've built something good out of all of this. We've got each other, and we've got our own families now. We're breaking the cycle, and that's what matters."

Autumn nodded, feeling a sense of pride in the life she had built, despite everything. "We are breaking the cycle," she agreed. "And we're going to make sure our children never have to deal with the things we did."

For a moment, they stood in silence, both lost in their thoughts. Then, with a deep breath, Autumn took Reece's hand. "It's all over now," she said, her voice filled with a mix of finality and relief. "We can finally move on."

Reece squeezed her hand, a small but significant gesture of solidarity. "We can," he echoed. "And we will."

Together, they turned away from the grave, leaving the past behind them. As they walked back to the car, they didn't look back. The burden they had carried for so long had finally been lifted, and with each step, they felt lighter, freer.

As they reached the car, Autumn paused, looking out over the cemetery. "Do you think he ever realized how much he lost?" she asked, her voice thoughtful.

Reece shook his head. "No," he said after a moment. "I don't think he ever did. And that's his tragedy, not ours."

Autumn nodded, satisfied with that answer. She climbed into the car, Reece following suit, and as they drove away, she felt a sense of peace she hadn't known she needed.

The drive back was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. Both siblings were lost in their own thoughts, reflecting on what had just transpired. There was no need for words; they had said all they needed to say, both to each other and to the man who had once held so much power over their lives.

By the time they reached home, the sky had begun to clear, a hint of sunlight breaking through the clouds. It felt symbolic, like a promise of better days to come.

As they walked up the path to Autumn's house, Reece turned to her with a small smile. "You know," he said, "I think we're going to be okay."

Autumn returned the smile, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "Yeah," she agreed. "We are."

They stepped inside, closing the door behind them, and with it, the door on their past. The future awaited them, filled with the love and happiness they were determined to create for themselves and their families. The past would always be a part of them, but it no longer had the power to define them.

As they settled into the evening, Autumn felt a sense of contentment she hadn't expected. The day had been difficult, but it had also been necessary. They had faced their past and said their goodbyes, and now they were ready to move forward.

They were finally free.