Unraveled

Chapter 12

The sky was a dull, oppressive gray on the day of Caleb's parents' funeral. The kind of gray that weighed heavily, as though the sky itself mourned. It had rained earlier, leaving the grass at the cemetery damp and slick, and now the air hung thick with humidity, the sun hidden behind layers of cloud.

Caleb stood at the front of the small crowd gathered around the gravesite, his small hand clenched tightly around his aunt Claire's. The black suit he wore felt itchy and oversized, the sleeves hanging awkwardly over his wrists. His polished, stiff shoes pinched, but he hardly noticed. He couldn't tear his gaze from the patch of ground where his parents' caskets rested, though he couldn't bring himself to look at them directly.

He was only eight, but he knew enough to understand what this meant. His parents weren't coming back. Everyone told him they were in a "better place," but how could that be? The best place was here, with him. Caleb's chest tightened, and he gripped his aunt's hand even harder.

Beside him, his cousin Izzy stood a little taller, her chestnut hair tied back in a simple braid. At nine, she seemed much older, composed in a way Caleb couldn't mirror. He felt her watching him, waiting for him to say something. But he had nothing to say; his throat felt thick, and the knot in his stomach refused to ease.

The priest's words drifted over them, soft and solemn, but Caleb barely registered them. He was fixated on the last memory of his parents—waving goodbye before their weekend trip, promising to be back by Monday. They had told him to be good for Aunt Claire and Uncle Jonathan, and he had been, spending the whole weekend playing with Izzy, waiting for his parents to come home.

But they hadn't.

"They're in heaven now," Aunt Claire had told him, her voice soft but shaking, when she explained the accident. "They loved you so much, Caleb."

Accident. The word sat in his mind, heavy and confusing. He didn't fully understand it, only that his parents were gone—forever.

Aunt Claire's grip tightened around his hand, grounding him. He knew she was trying to be strong, but he'd seen her cry when she thought he wasn't looking. She had lost her sister. Late at night, he'd overheard her and Uncle Jonathan talking quietly, trying to figure out how to move forward.

He didn't know how to move forward, either. All he knew was that nothing would ever be the same.

The funeral stretched on, each word of the priest's sermon a distant blur of sorrow hanging over the crowd. Finally, the caskets began to lower, disappearing into the earth with a slow, wrenching finality that made Caleb's stomach churn. It felt like watching the last pieces of his life slip away, buried deep beneath the soil.

Izzy squeezed his hand, her own fingers cold against his. She didn't say anything comforting. She just stood beside him, her face pale and serious, as they watched the last bit of their world vanish.

"It'll be okay," she whispered, though Caleb could hear the uncertainty in her voice. "We're family, right? We'll stick together."

Caleb didn't answer; he couldn't. The knot in his chest was too tight, the pain too raw. He glanced up at Aunt Claire, who was dabbing at her eyes, her face drawn and pale.

Uncle Jonathan stood beside her, his expression grim but steady. Caleb hadn't heard much from him in the past few days. He had been busy with all the "arrangements"—whatever that meant. Caleb didn't care. He just wanted his mom and dad back.

As the crowd began to disperse, Caleb caught sight of a small figure standing off to the side, watching from a distance. He couldn't see much detail—just a dark silhouette among the others—but their presence was unmistakable. They stood alone, their gaze fixed on the caskets as they lowered into the ground.

"That's them," Izzy murmured, following Caleb's gaze. "The one from the other car."

Caleb frowned, not understanding. "What?"

"The accident," Izzy explained quietly, glancing up at their aunt and uncle to make sure they weren't listening. "It wasn't just your parents. Another couple died too. That's their kid."

Caleb stared at the figure, a strange feeling twisting in his stomach. He didn't know much about what had happened—no one had given him details—but he had overheard enough to piece things together. His parents' car had collided with another on the highway. Both cars had crashed, and no one had survived—except for the child from the other car.

The figure's eyes met Caleb's for a brief moment, but neither of them spoke. Their gaze was hollow, a quiet grief that tightened Caleb's chest even more. He looked away, unable to bear it.

"We're going to take care of you, Caleb," Aunt Claire had said the night before, her voice soft as she tucked him into bed. "You'll stay with us now, okay? You and Izzy—you're like brother and sister now."

He didn't feel like anyone's brother. He felt lost, adrift in a world that no longer made sense. His home had been in Manhattan, with his parents, in a bustling city where everything had been familiar. Now, everything felt foreign and distant.

As they walked away from the gravesite, Caleb felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—his parents' absence, the strange new life he was supposed to accept. He wanted to run, to escape all of it, but there was nowhere to go.

Izzy's voice broke through his thoughts. "Look," she said, her tone softer now. "Mom says my hair's starting to turn red. Isn't that weird?"

Caleb blinked, confused. He hadn't noticed before, but when he looked at her, he could see it—a few strands of red mixed in with her usual brown. It wasn't much, just a hint, but enough to catch his attention.

"Yeah," Caleb mumbled, unsure of what to say. Everything felt strange now, even the little things.

As they walked back to the car, Aunt Claire's arm around his shoulders, Caleb glanced back one last time. The figure was still there, standing by the graves, watching them leave.

Caleb didn't know why, but something about them stuck in his mind—a feeling he couldn't shake. That child had survived. But what had they lost?

And would anything ever make sense again?