Blair O'Connor was the life of every party-popular, fearless, and always the center of attention. But behind the perfect image was an abusive boyfriend who slowly stripped away the girl she used to be.
After finally breaking free, Blair transfers...
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I was sitting in the third row beside Hughie and Eloise at St. Patrick's Church on a warm day in early May. The first of May, to be exact. The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting patterns of colored light on the wooden pews. The air inside was heavy with the mingled scents of candles and spring flowers, arranged in overflowing vases near the altar. Today was Marie Lynch's funeral.
The church was packed, every pew filled with friends, family, and neighbors who had come to pay their respects. There was a soft murmur of voices, the sound of tissues being unfolded, and the occasional muffled sob.
Darren—Shannon's oldest brother—had asked Blair to play a piece on the piano for the service. He had been the one to approach her, his voice shaking as he made the request. "It would mean the world to us," he'd said, and Blair hadn't hesitated to agree.
Now, seated at the front of the church, Blair played. The melody was soft and haunting, her fingers gliding over the keys with precision and emotion. The notes seemed to float up, filling the church with something both beautiful and heartbreaking.
When she finished, a hush fell over the congregation, as if no one dared break the spell she had woven. Even Father McCarthy seemed momentarily at a loss for words before he stepped forward to begin the service.
Blair returned to her seat beside me, her hands trembling slightly. I glanced at her, seeing the sheen of tears in her eyes. She didn't say anything, just clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
Father McCarthy's words were solemn and steady, offering comfort to the grieving family and celebrating Marie's life. As he neared the end of his speech, I could see the strain on Darren's face, his eyes glassy and red.
When it was time, everyone rose from their seats. Darren and his younger brother Joey walked to the front of the church, their movements heavy and deliberate. Teddy's coffin, the smaller one, had already been carried out, and now it was time for Marie's.
Darren hesitated, his voice barely audible as he turned to Joey. "We need six people to carry her," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't think—" He shook his head, blinking rapidly as if trying to hold himself together. "I don't know what to do..."
Joey placed a hand on Darren's shoulder, his own face pale and drawn. Darren straightened up and called out hoarsely, "Johnny?"
From a few rows back, Johnny looked up, startled. "Yeah?"
"Will you shoulder our mother with us?" Darren asked, his voice trembling.
Johnny's eyes widened, and he sank back into his seat for a moment, clearly taken aback. "Are you sure? You want me?"
Darren nodded firmly, though his voice wavered. "There would be four white coffins up here if you hadn't done what you did," he said, his words weighted with emotion. "We want you. She would want you, too."
