The rain poured on the day of the funeral, mirroring the grief that hung heavily over the Rochefort family and those who had gathered to mourn the sudden passing of Alex and Layla.
Rain drummed steadily against umbrellas and stones, pooling along the narrow paths between graves. Shoes sank slightly into softened earth, steps slowing without anyone needing to say why.
Arianne arrived late, as she intended. It would lessen the chances of running into people who might know her. Overshadowing Alex and Layla's funeral was something she didn't want to do. She was dressed modestly in a black dress, her long, dark coat, and her eyes shielded by oversized sunglasses.
She kept her head low as she stepped onto the cemetery grounds, blending into the flow of guests as discreetly as possible. She had no intention of drawing attention to herself.
Because of this, Arianne hesitated for a moment to step inside the chapel. She buried her trembling hands in the deep pockets of her coat, her steps slow and steady. Seeing Alex and Layla for the last time would make everything feel real for her.
The chapel doors stood half open. She counted her breaths once, then again, before letting herself cross the threshold.
A part of her wanted to leave, to refuse to face and accept what was inevitable, but she owed Alex this. If she doesn't do this now, Arianne knows there won't be another chance.
Someone stepped out of the chapel as she was about to enter, forcing Arianne to step back to avoid them. She wondered if this was a sign for her to retreat, but quickly shut the thought away.
Mustering all the courage she had, she entered the chapel and stayed at the back. She adjusted her coat and lowered her head whenever someone tried to pass in front of her.
Instead, she lingered at the edges, waiting—watching—as people took turns approaching the bereaved parents.
She stayed on the sidelines, moving cautiously and avoiding eye contact with the other mourners. Arianne was starting to feel paranoid that someone might have seen and recognized her, but there hadn't been so far.
Someone raised her voice, but Arianne didn't look toward it. Instead, she kept her gaze forward, her feet rooted in place as if it was enough to make her invisible.
From where she stood, she could see Alex's father accepting condolences with a stiff expression, shoulders squared beneath the weight of expectation. He received the condolences one after another with a practiced smile. He stood still, as it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
No one offered to relieve him. They simply moved along, as though endurance were the only acceptable response to loss.
Since Alex's passing, the elderly man had once again assumed the role of company head. Everyone knew it was only temporary, but no one voiced it aloud today. Their guests turned their gaze to the younger Rochefort brother, wondering how he would fill his lost brother's shoes.
Arianne recognized Franz from afar. He stood near the entrance, his expression somber, greeting the mourners. She knew that he, too, was struggling to come to terms with his brother's passing and the responsibilities that now fell on him.
"You really know how to make a scene, Alex," Arianne sighed quietly as her gaze lifted to the large portrait of her friend displayed near the altar.
The image captured him as the world preferred to remember him. He looked composed, confident, untouchable in his portrait. Beside it, Layla's portrait was set. She was smiling brightly in the camera. Two souls that just started their own family had gone in a flash.
Arianne's eyes drifted upward as she stepped onto the mezzanine of the small church within the cemetery. The voices from below sounded muffled while the rain outside was louder. From there, she surveyed the crowd below. Familiar faces appeared here, and there she once knew. People who had once known her. She saw Gilbert and Samantha, but she made no effort to take their attention.
None of them noticed her.
They were too engrossed in quiet conversations, in carefully chosen words and calculated gestures, in making connections with notable guests, even in the midst of mourning. Grief, for some, was merely another opportunity.
Her gaze continued its slow sweep—until it stopped.
Dominic Blackwood.
It had been five years since she last saw him.
The recognition came and passed just as quickly. Whatever history they shared had no place here, and she did not allow it to linger.
He looked largely the same, though the faint darkening beneath his eyes suggested exhaustion. His posture was more rigid than she remembered, as though the years had weighed on him in ways he hadn't anticipated.
Arianne felt nothing. In fact, she almost didn't recognize him when his back was to her. It was only when he turned to his side that she recognized him.
Whatever difficulties he carried now had nothing to do with her. She had long since stopped caring about the life he built after her absence. He was a part of the past she had no intention of revisiting.
She looked away.
The service continued beneath the steady rhythm of rain against the stained-glass windows. When the final prayers were spoken, and the guests began to disperse, Arianne remained where she was.
The gloomy afternoon pressed on, urging people to leave. One by one, umbrellas opened, cars pulled away, and the cemetery grew quieter. Condolences were exchanged, final bows offered, and then the crowd thinned until only a few figures remained in the distance.
Arianne waited. The mourners left the chapel one by one after bidding Alex's parents goodbye, with rain accompanying Arianne as she waited outside with her umbrella in one hand.
The voices grew fainter as guests passed her without a second glance.
She waited as the last of the mourners departed, as the rain softened from a downpour to a persistent drizzle. She waited until the cemetery no longer felt crowded with eyes and expectations.
Only then did she step forward.
Courage, she realized, did not arrive all at once.
She had waited for an hour before she found the courage and time to finally approach the graves.