Invisible String Of Love

A Place She Used To Be

The night air hung heavy with the scent of candle wax and sorrow. The wake carried on, murmurs threading through the occasional sobs, yet Clementine heard none of it—not with her heart hammering in her chest, not with the sight of her sister lying still in that coffin.

Kaira lingered nearby, keeping a respectful distance before finally leaning in, ready to whisper something—something to ease the weight pressing down on Clementine's shoulders.

But before a single word could leave her lips, Clemmy ran.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her dress hitching up as she stumbled back—away from the coffin, the crowd, Kai, and the grief squeezing her lungs with merciless force.

She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to go.

The walls pressed in, the air too thick to swallow, the weight of their stares clinging to her like shadows. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, forcing her through the door and into the night. The cold struck her like an open palm.

"Clementine—" someone called.

But she didn't stop. She couldn't.

Kai watched through the window as Clemmy ran toward the treehouse. Every instinct screamed at her to follow—to chase after her, to hold her-but she knew better.

Some people needed space before they needed comfort. And Clemmy was one of them.

She lingered near the doorway, hands curling into fists as she watched Clemmy kneel before the tree, pressing her face against its bark. Grief carved itself into her features, raw and unbearable. Kai could only imagine what it felt like to look into a coffin and see a piece of yourself lying still, never to move again.

"Give her a moment," she murmured to herself before finally stepping forward.

Meanwhile, Clemmy clung to the treehouse—the very place where she and her sister used to play before she ran away. She held it as if she could squeeze warmth from the wood, as if, for just a moment, it might feel like Isabella's skin against hers. The grief in her chest softened, but only slightly. She sobbed and sobbed, her voice raw, her lips trembling as she chanted her sister's name.

"Isabella... Isabella... Bella!"

Inside the wake, the mourners watched through the window, their gazes heavy with sorrow. Kai stood among them, silent.

Alexa and Olivia—Clemmy's older sister and her twin—smiled through their tears. Smiled because she had come back. Cried because she had come back only for this.

Their mother, Nicole, held little Lucas close, pressing a kiss to his hair as he sobbed into her shoulder.

Their father, Colby, stood behind them, sipping his coffee, his face unreadable at first—until, for just a flicker of a second, it softened at the sight of his son breaking down. But then his heart turned cold once more, remembering who she was now. Remembering the day she ran.

Finally, Kai decided to follow, weaving through the mourners who remained transfixed on Clemmy as she unraveled before them.

The moment Kai stepped outside into the backyard, the night air wrapped around her—cold and unyielding, just like the way Clemmy clung to the treehouse, as if holding onto something that could no longer hold her back.

Kai slowed her pace, careful not to startle Clemmy. She cast a glance toward the window, where Clemmy's family and a few mourners still watched—concerned, yet wary. If they were going to be bystanders, Kai wished they'd at least look away. She had never comforted anyone under so many prying eyes.