A Funeral Full of Lies
The rain began to fall the moment the coffin was lowered into the ground.
It came softly at first, like the sky was unsure whether it was allowed to cry. Then it grew heavier, drumming against black umbrellas and soaking the ground beneath Elara's small shoes.
She stood beside her father, her hand locked in his grip. It was tight—too tight. Not comforting. Controlling.
People murmured around them.
"Such a tragedy."
"She was brilliant."
"That poor little girl."
Elara stared at the coffin. Her mother's coffin. The wood was too dark, too final. Her chest hurt as if something was pressing down on it.
She tugged at her father's sleeve.
"Daddy," she whispered. "When will Mommy come back?"
Mr. Kingsley did not look at her.
"She won't," he said.
Her breath caught. "But… she said she would take me to Paris. She promised."
He leaned closer, his voice low and sharp. "Stop talking."
Tears burned her eyes.
Vivian bent down beside them, her veil flawless, her face arranged into grief.
"Sweetheart," she said gently, "your mother is with God now. You must behave. Everyone is watching."
Elara turned to her, confusion and hurt written clearly on her small face.
"Why are you crying?" Elara asked softly. "You don't like my mommy."
A hush fell.
Vivian's smile froze.
Before she could speak, another girl stepped forward.
She was dressed in black too. Same height as Elara. Same age. But her eyes were cold, curious, and sharp.
Selena.
Vivian's daughter.
"She's just trying to get attention," Selena said casually. "You told me she cries a lot."
Elara stared at her. "This is my mommy's funeral."
Selena shrugged. "And now she's gone."
The words hit like a slap.
Elara's lips trembled. "Why would you say that?"
Selena tilted her head. "Because it's true."
Mr. Kingsley finally looked down at Elara.
"Apologize," he ordered.
Elara's heart pounded. "For what?"
"For embarrassing us."
Vivian placed a gentle hand on Selena's shoulder. "Go stand over there, darling."
Selena obeyed, but not before whispering as she passed Elara,
"Stop crying. It's annoying."
At the reception hall, Elara sat alone on a chair too large for her, her feet dangling. The room smelled of flowers and lies.
Across the room, she saw her father speaking with business partners.
"The company will need restructuring," Mr. Kingsley said calmly. "My late wife was too soft."
Vivian nodded. "We'll handle it better now."
Selena stood between them, smiling politely, already playing the role of daughter of the house.
"She'll get used to it," Selena said softly. "Elara cries, but she'll stop."
Mr. Kingsley glanced at Elara.
"She will," he said.
Elara felt something twist painfully inside her.
That night, the mansion felt unfamiliar.
Elara slipped into her parents' bedroom quietly. The scent of jasmine lingered faintly, clinging to the curtains. Her throat tightened.
She climbed onto the bed and hugged her mother's pillow.
"I miss you," she whispered. "Please come back."
The door opened.
"Elara."
She turned quickly. "Daddy… can I sleep here tonight? I'm scared."
Mr. Kingsley frowned. "That room is no longer yours."
Vivian stepped in beside him. Selena followed, leaning against the doorframe, watching silently.
"But it's Mommy's room," Elara said weakly.
Vivian crossed her arms. "Your mother is dead. Things change."
Elara looked at Selena, desperate for understanding.
Selena looked away.
"Please," Elara whispered. "Just tonight."
Mr. Kingsley's voice hardened. "Enough."
Selena stepped forward and grabbed Elara's arm—not roughly, but firmly.
"Come on," she said. "You're not supposed to be here."
Elara stumbled as Selena led her out.
"I hate you!" Elara cried suddenly.
Selena stopped and looked back at her, eyes flat.
"You'll get over it."
The changes came quickly.
Elara's clothes were packed away.
Her room was changed.
Selena moved into a larger bedroom.
One afternoon, Elara found Selena sitting on her bed, flipping through her sketchbook.
"Are these dresses?" Selena asked, amused.
"Give it back," Elara said urgently.
Selena closed the book slowly. "Why do you draw so much?"
"It makes me feel better," Elara whispered.
Selena tossed it onto the bed. "That's stupid."
Elara ran to her father.
"Daddy," she pleaded. "She took my things."
Mr. Kingsley barely looked up. "Learn to share."
Tears streamed down her face.
That night, Elara lay curled up on her narrow bed, clutching her sketchbook.
"I won't cry anymore," she whispered into the dark. "I'll be strong."
She began to draw.
A girl standing alone.
Facing a storm.
Unbroken.
From the hallway, Selena watched quietly.
Her expression unreadable.