No flowers for the dead - Chapter 40: Chapter 40
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The house was still.
Alina stood at the doorway, listening to the quiet — a different kind of silence than the one Elias left behind. This one wasn’t empty. It was waiting.
When the knock came, she didn’t flinch.
She’d been preparing for this moment since the letter arrived.
She opened the door.
And there she was.
Rae.
Wearing a loose black sweater, her curls pinned back, her expression steady but soft.
“Hi,” Rae said.
Alina smiled. “Come in.”
⸻
They sat in the sunroom.
Tea between them. An untouched tray of pastries on the table. A framed photo of Elias on the mantle that neither woman acknowledged.
Rae’s gaze wandered the room, landing on a piano tucked neatly into the corner.
“He taught Elara to play there,” Alina said gently, noticing. “She hated it at first. Said it felt like her fingers didn’t belong to her.”
Rae gave a half-smile. “I used to bang on the keys of the old one at my grandmother’s. Never learned to play. Just liked the sound.”
Alina nodded. “That sounds like him too.”
Silence returned. Not cold. Not tense.
Just real.
⸻
“I didn’t come here for closure,” Rae said after a moment.
Alina met her eyes. “What did you come for?”
“To understand why he didn’t reach out. Why I wasn’t enough of a reason.”
Alina didn’t look away.
“Not because you weren’t a reason. Because he didn’t know how to be a father. Not then. Maybe not ever.”
Rae blinked.
Alina continued, voice softer now:
“I loved Elias with everything I had. But he was broken long before I met him. Haunted by legacy, by expectation, by silence. He made mistakes — not because he didn’t care. But because he was terrified of becoming the man his father was.”
Rae’s throat tightened.
“He wasn’t cruel,” Alina said. “But he was afraid. And that fear cost him the chance to know you. It was wrong. I won’t pretend it wasn’t. But I know he carried the weight of it.”
Rae looked away, lips trembling.
“I used to imagine him coming through the door,” she whispered. “Some nights, I would dream it. That he’d find me, explain everything. Say sorry.”
Alina reached over and placed her hand on Rae’s.
“He didn’t come. But I’m here now. And I will never let you carry that absence alone again.”
⸻
They didn’t cry.
They just sat.
Two women bound by loss, yes — but more than that, by a shared love for someone neither of them had fully understood while he was alive.
Later, Alina pulled out a small, folded sheet of music from a drawer.
“This was the first song Elara composed. Elias kept it in his wallet.”
Rae took it like something sacred.
And in that moment, she understood:
She had always been part of the story.
Even if no one had said it aloud.
Alina stood at the doorway, listening to the quiet — a different kind of silence than the one Elias left behind. This one wasn’t empty. It was waiting.
When the knock came, she didn’t flinch.
She’d been preparing for this moment since the letter arrived.
She opened the door.
And there she was.
Rae.
Wearing a loose black sweater, her curls pinned back, her expression steady but soft.
“Hi,” Rae said.
Alina smiled. “Come in.”
⸻
They sat in the sunroom.
Tea between them. An untouched tray of pastries on the table. A framed photo of Elias on the mantle that neither woman acknowledged.
Rae’s gaze wandered the room, landing on a piano tucked neatly into the corner.
“He taught Elara to play there,” Alina said gently, noticing. “She hated it at first. Said it felt like her fingers didn’t belong to her.”
Rae gave a half-smile. “I used to bang on the keys of the old one at my grandmother’s. Never learned to play. Just liked the sound.”
Alina nodded. “That sounds like him too.”
Silence returned. Not cold. Not tense.
Just real.
⸻
“I didn’t come here for closure,” Rae said after a moment.
Alina met her eyes. “What did you come for?”
“To understand why he didn’t reach out. Why I wasn’t enough of a reason.”
Alina didn’t look away.
“Not because you weren’t a reason. Because he didn’t know how to be a father. Not then. Maybe not ever.”
Rae blinked.
Alina continued, voice softer now:
“I loved Elias with everything I had. But he was broken long before I met him. Haunted by legacy, by expectation, by silence. He made mistakes — not because he didn’t care. But because he was terrified of becoming the man his father was.”
Rae’s throat tightened.
“He wasn’t cruel,” Alina said. “But he was afraid. And that fear cost him the chance to know you. It was wrong. I won’t pretend it wasn’t. But I know he carried the weight of it.”
Rae looked away, lips trembling.
“I used to imagine him coming through the door,” she whispered. “Some nights, I would dream it. That he’d find me, explain everything. Say sorry.”
Alina reached over and placed her hand on Rae’s.
“He didn’t come. But I’m here now. And I will never let you carry that absence alone again.”
⸻
They didn’t cry.
They just sat.
Two women bound by loss, yes — but more than that, by a shared love for someone neither of them had fully understood while he was alive.
Later, Alina pulled out a small, folded sheet of music from a drawer.
“This was the first song Elara composed. Elias kept it in his wallet.”
Rae took it like something sacred.
And in that moment, she understood:
She had always been part of the story.
Even if no one had said it aloud.
End of No flowers for the dead Chapter 40. Continue reading Chapter 41 or return to No flowers for the dead book page.