Echoes of the Silent Realm

Chapter 14: Echoes of Yesterday

**Chapter 14: "Echoes of Yesterday"**

The house felt unbearably empty now. Every sound—the creak of the floorboards, the whisper of wind through the windows—seemed like an echo of something that used to be. Allen Worthington had been gone for a week, but his presence still lingered in every room, in every corner, as if he might walk through the door at any moment and laugh about how strange things had felt without him.

But he wasn't coming back.

Aaly, Ian, Luke, and Isaac sat in the living room, scattered around the space like pieces of a broken puzzle. The air was thick with grief, their faces pale, their eyes rimmed with exhaustion and sorrow.

Aaly, the oldest, sat by the window, her legs pulled up to her chest. She had always been the strong one, the one who could make sense of things when no one else could. But now, she felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. She hadn't cried at the funeral, not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't know how. She just felt... numb. Staring out the window, she watched the rain drip down the glass, her reflection blurred and distorted. Dad had always told her she was like him—stubborn, strong-willed, resilient. But now, without him, she felt lost. A part of her wanted to scream, to let the world know how unfair it all was. But she didn't. She couldn't.

Ian sat on the floor, his back against the couch, knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes were fixed on the rug, but he wasn't really seeing it. The weight of responsibility felt heavier than ever now. He was the oldest boy, the protector, but how was he supposed to protect them from this? His dad had always been his rock, the one person he could turn to when everything else felt like it was crumbling. Now, that safety net was gone. Ian clenched his fists, his throat tight. He hadn't cried either. Not really. Crying felt like weakness, and Ian couldn't afford to be weak. Not now. Not when his siblings needed him.

Luke, only nine, sat beside Ian, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the pattern on the rug. Luke had always been the curious one, the one full of questions, but now, he didn't want answers. He just wanted his dad back. Luke had been the last to see him, waving from the window as Allen left the house that rainy evening. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should've done something—said something. Maybe if he had, Dad wouldn't have been in that car when the rain started to pour. Maybe things would've been different. The thought gnawed at him, even though he knew it didn't make sense. He glanced at Isaac, sitting quietly across the room, and wondered if Isaac felt the same.

Isaac, just six years old, clutched his favorite stuffed rabbit, his small face blank, as if the world around him had grown too big and too confusing to understand. He hadn't fully grasped what it meant when they told him Dad was gone. At the funeral, he kept asking when Daddy would be back, when they'd go on their next trip to the park. He didn't cry then, and he wasn't crying now, but Isaac knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the way everyone talked in hushed tones, the way no one smiled anymore. He kept looking at the door, waiting for his dad to walk in, pick him up, and tell him everything was going to be okay. But the door stayed shut, and Isaac's eyes stayed fixed on it, the quiet hope flickering and fading with each passing minute.

Aaly broke the silence, her voice soft, barely more than a whisper. "It doesn't feel real, does it?"

Ian didn't answer right away. He swallowed hard, then shook his head. "No. It doesn't."

Luke's voice, quieter than usual, followed. "Why did it have to happen? Why him?"

Aaly glanced over at her younger brother, her heart breaking for him. For all of them. "I don't know, Luke. I don't know."

Isaac's small voice piped up, full of confusion. "Is Daddy coming home soon?"

Aaly bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears for the first time since the crash. She got up from the window and knelt beside Isaac, pulling him into her arms. "No, Isaac. Daddy's not coming home."

Isaac looked up at her, his little brow furrowing. "But... he said he would. He promised."

Aaly hugged him tighter, her tears finally spilling over. "I know he did. I know."

The room fell into silence again, broken only by the quiet sound of Aaly crying softly into Isaac's hair. Ian looked away, trying to keep his own emotions in check, but the sight of his sister finally breaking down was too much. A lump formed in his throat, and before he could stop himself, a tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, hoping no one noticed.

But Luke noticed. He always noticed. And for the first time since their dad's death, Luke let himself cry too. He buried his face in his hands, his small body trembling as the grief he had been holding back finally broke free. He wanted to be brave like Ian, strong like Aaly, but he couldn't. It was too much. He missed his dad too much.

Ian finally moved, reaching out and pulling Luke close to him. "It's okay," he whispered, his own voice cracking. "It's okay, Luke."

For a while, they just sat there, the four of them, huddled together in their shared grief. The rain continued to fall outside, a steady, unrelenting reminder of the night they lost their dad. And though the house was quiet, the silence was no longer suffocating. It was filled with their pain, their love, and the echoes of a man who had meant everything to them.

As the hours passed, the reality of their father's absence settled in a little deeper. They knew they would have to move forward, somehow. But for now, in that moment, they allowed themselves to mourn. To feel the weight of their loss. To cry.

Because in the end, they knew that love—real, deep love—didn't just disappear. It lingered, like the echoes of yesterday, reminding them that even in their darkest moments, they still had each other. And in that, there was a sliver of hope.