Four weeks had passed since their mother's funeral. The house was quieter now, but not as peaceful as Bella had hoped. It was the kind of quiet that pressed against her chest, suffocating in its stillness. She tried to keep busy—sorting through bills, handling paperwork, cooking meals Rachel hardly touched—but the grief clung to her like a second skin.
That morning, Bella and Rachel sat at the dining table eating, and even though Bella barely ate anything, she still felt nauseous.
Rachel glanced at her worriedly. "Are you sure you won't go for a check-up? You've been feeling sick for the past few days," Rachel asked with a frown.
Bella shook her head. "It's nothing serious. I'm sure it's probably just a fever or maybe the flu. I'll be fine in a few days," she said, waving it off.
"Are you sure?" Rachel asked again.
Bella flashed her a reassuring smile, knowing that Rachel's concern stemmed from the fear of losing her like they'd lost their mom.
