The church was too quiet.
Too reverent, and too heavy. The church came with the kind of silence that clawed at the inside of your chest like grief had taken physical shape.
Candles burned on the altar, flickering like they were shivering, and outside, rain whispered against the windows like the sky couldn't keep its sorrow to itself either.
Celeste stood at the back of the church, her fingers wound tight around the program. The words blurred every time she tried to read them. "In loving memory of Eleanor Cross."
Nana.
The woman who had taken her in when she was nothing but a mess of uncertainty and bruised hope. The woman who had loved her like a daughter. Who had loved Dominic with the kind of gentleness that made people believe in goodness again.
She inhaled sharply, catching herself.
Dominic.
