Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)
Death.
I’ve felt it before.
The first time was when my mother died. I was ten. Too young to understand what it really meant, but old enough to feel the emptiness it left behind. Everyone said it would get easier with time, but that’s a lie people tell you so they can feel less uncomfortable around your grief. It doesn’t get easier.
You just… learn to live with it.
When I heard the doctor’s voice on the phone telling me that my father had died, I didn’t cry right away. I didn’t scream. I just stood there—completely still—as if any movement would break me into pieces I wouldn’t be able to put back together.
My father is gone.
And now, I have no parents.
It’s just me now. Me… and my grandfather, who’s also fading like the last light of a dying candle.
I flew back to California for the funeral, my chest heavy and hollow all at once. The entire estate was draped in black. The gardens, once filled with life and laughter, were quiet. Grieving. Just like me.
The ceremony was held under the giant oak tree my parents planted together when they first bought the land. Chairs lined the garden lawn, white flowers tucked beside each one. His favorite jazz music played softly in the background. The kind that made you feel something even if you didn’t know why.
People filled the seats—business partners, family friends, press trying to sneak in behind tinted glasses. But none of them mattered.
I stood at the front, dressed in a black midi dress, my hair tied in a neat bun. Luca stood beside me in a perfectly tailored black suit, his hand lightly brushing mine every few minutes, just enough to remind me that he was there. That I wasn’t completely alone.
The pastor finished his eulogy, and then it was my turn.
I stepped up to the small podium, trying to keep my hands from trembling. I cleared my throat and looked out at everyone, but my eyes only saw one thing—the black coffin lying just a few feet away from me, flowers scattered across its top. Inside it lay the man who raised me. The man I loved. The man I fought with. The man who still called me “my baby girl” even when I wore heels and power suits.
“I always thought I had more time,” I began softly, my voice barely carrying across the garden. “Time to tell you how proud I was to be your daughter. Time to fight less. Time to sit with you and just talk without rushing. But time… time’s cruel. It gives and takes without warning.”
A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it.
“My father wasn’t a perfect man. He was stubborn. Loud. Controlling, even. But he loved with his whole heart. He worked hard. He made sacrifices. He built a life for us… and all he ever wanted was for me to be safe. And now that he’s gone, I realize—he was my safety.”
I paused, my voice trembling. “I wish I could’ve told you that I forgive you… for everything. And I hope, wherever you are, you’re with Mom. That you’re finally at peace.”
I took a step back from the podium, eyes glossy but no tears falling. I didn’t have any left. Not today.
Luca stepped closer and gently wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him without thinking. For a brief moment, I didn’t care that our marriage was arranged, that we weren’t in love, that this wasn’t what either of us planned.
He was here.
That was enough.
As the guests stood and slowly followed the procession to the burial site behind the estate, I walked ahead with Luca beside me. My father was laid to rest next to my mother, just like he always wanted. Two matching headstones side by side, under the same tree where I once played as a little girl.
I stood in silence, staring down at the freshly dug grave. The priest said a final prayer, but I didn’t hear a word. My thoughts were too loud.
He’s really gone.
When the crowd began to disperse, I remained still, my heels digging into the soft grass.
Luca didn’t move either.
And then, after what felt like hours, he finally said something—quiet, almost like a secret.
“I got you.”
I turned to look at him, and for once, he wasn’t cold. His eyes weren’t unreadable. They were soft. Real.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he added. I felt the tears then. Hot, silent, and too heavy to hold back.
I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say anything.
I just leaned into him and let myself fall apart. And for the first time… he caught me.
