Yulia

Year Three Diary

Today, we buried an empty casket.

The world called it closure. The police called it the end. But for me, it was like being handed the sharp edge of despair and told to carry it in my chest for the rest of my life. There's no body, no proof, no goodbye. Just a hole in the ground, a marker with her name on it, and the crushing weight of knowing that they've given up on her. They've given up on us.

The ceremony was small, quiet. Everyone dressed in black, faces pale and drawn. I stood there, staring at the casket as they lowered it into the earth, and I felt... nothing. Nothing but a raw, gaping emptiness that threatened to swallow me whole. It didn't feel real. None of it feels real. How can they expect me to let her go when every part of me still aches for her, still waits for her?

I thought I'd cry. I thought I'd fall to my knees and scream, but the tears wouldn't come. The pain is beyond that now. It's not something I can release. It's woven into me, tangled around my bones, suffocating me from the inside out.

Alice was there, her small baby bump just starting to show, and I felt this awful twist of jealousy and guilt. New life, so pure and full of promise, standing next to the hollow reminder of everything we've lost. She barely spoke, her hand clutching Aline's like a lifeline. Aline tried to be the strong one, holding her sister up, but even she was trembling. They're shattered—pieces of them scattered in the grave we just filled with nothing. Yulia was their friend, their mentor, their sister. I watched Alice brush her fingers over the headstone, her lips moving in a silent prayer, and it hit me: that's all they have left of her.

A headstone.

Do you know what it's like to bury someone who isn't dead? To stand in front of a hole in the ground and pretend it means something? To lower a casket into the earth when your heart is still screaming that she's out there somewhere, waiting, hoping, hurting?

I wanted to smash the whole damn thing. I wanted to rip the marker out of the ground and shout that it wasn't over. That she's not gone. But no one would listen. Not the police, not the mourners, not the damn earth swallowing her name like it's final. They all think we're mad. That Alessandro and I are chasing ghosts. That Matteo's silence is acceptance.

It's not.

It's survival.

Alessandro's eyes are darker than I've ever seen them. He didn't cry either. He just stood there, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, staring at that casket like he was trying to burn a hole through it with his rage. He didn't say a word the entire time, but I know what he's thinking. I know because I'm thinking it too. We should've done more. We should've protected her. We should've saved her.

He barely sleeps now. The lake house is just a place for him to pace, to brood, to plan his next move. He doesn't look at the lake anymore. It used to bring him peace, but now it's just a reminder of the last time she was truly happy, the last time we were all together.

And Matteo... I don't even know where to start. He wasn't there today. He couldn't do it. He stayed behind, buried himself in work like it's the only thing holding him together. He's the glue that keeps the rest of our lives from falling apart, but I can see the cracks in him too. He's quieter than he's ever been. His laughter, the thing that used to fill every room with light, is gone. I think he's scared to come to the lake house. Scared of what he'll find—or maybe what he won't.

We moved here a few months ago. The mansion was too much—too big, too sterile, too full of emptiness. The lake house, though it's still too large, holds something the mansion never could: the memories of her. She felt safe here once. I remember the way her eyes softened when she looked out over the water, the way she seemed lighter, freer, like the weight of the world had let up just enough for her to breathe.