Stella's POV

"It's time." The funeral director's voice was low, almost swallowed by the soft, mournful music playing in the background.

"Still no word from the father?"

I lifted my swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Through the flowers, I could see her. That small, pale little body. My Sophie.

My phone lay silent in my palm. No new messages. Every call I'd made had gone straight to voicemail.

I moved forward like a hollow shell, one slow step at a time. My trembling fingers brushed across her cold cheek. The grief hit me like a wave, pulling me under.

"Sophie, we're not waiting for him anymore, okay?"

The funeral director shifted uncomfortably. Even someone used to death and loss looked uneasy. "If the father doesn't get a chance to say goodbye, he may regret it for the rest of his life. Are you sure you don't want to wait a little longer?"

"Regret?" A bitter laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it. My throat was raw and dry.

"My daughter was lying on an operating table, waiting for his bone marrow to save her life. He was at an amusement park with another woman and another child, playing happy family. You really think a man like that knows anything about regret?"

The tears came then, unstoppable. They slid down my face and dropped onto Sophie's stiff, pale cheek.

I wiped it away quickly.

My baby had already suffered enough in this world. I wasn't going to let her carry my tears into the next one.

"Let's begin. We're not waiting."

I folded my hands over my chest and prayed.

“Lord, thank You for the time You gave us together. Please have mercy on my Sophie. Take her back into Your arms. Let her rest.”

---

I picked out the prettiest Elsa-themed urn I could find. Then I sat with it and painted tiny flowers along the sides, one by one, even as my chest felt like it was caving in.

Sophie was afraid of the dark. So I didn't use the heavy, dark velvet wrap the funeral home offered. I took off my own jacket and bundled the urn inside it, holding it close against my body.

The early winter wind cut at my face like a blade. I didn't feel it.

I flagged down a cab in a daze and gave the driver my address.

The city glittered around us as we merged into downtown traffic. Neon lights flashed outside the window, but inside me there was nothing. Just a vast, hollow emptiness.

My parents were already gone. Now my daughter was gone too. There was nothing left in this world worth holding onto.

A burst of fireworks exploded overhead and lit up the entire windshield.

I flinched and turned my head. On both sides of the street, massive LED screens were running the same looping video on repeat.

A Disney-style palace, all gold and glittering lights. Olivia Smith stepped out of a pumpkin carriage in a satin ballgown and a diamond tiara.

Charles Hart, the man who practically ran this city, bent down and offered his hand to help her out, like he was personally making a fairy tale come true.

He took her hand and walked her over to Isabelle Smith, who was standing nearby, beaming. The three of them leaned in together and lit the candles on a ten-tiered custom cake. Olivia made her wish, then turned and kissed each of them on the cheek.

The perfect little family. Sweet enough to make your teeth hurt.

I just felt sick. A fire burned low and mean in my chest. Nobody watching that screen would ever guess that the woman in that video wasn't Charles's legal wife.

Another round of fireworks went off, shaking the night sky.

Up front, the driver let out an admiring sigh. "Man, that's the life. Being Mr. Hart's daughter? That's a lottery win right there."

It felt like a blade driving straight into my sternum. What no one could possibly know was that Charles's only legitimate child, my child, was lying right now in a box wrapped in my jacket, cradled in my arms.

An hour later, the cab pulled up in front of Riviera Court.

I thanked the driver, climbed out, and stood under the pale wash of the streetlight, holding the urn against my chest.

I looked up at the third-floor window. I could almost hear it. The soft, bright sound of Sophie's fingers picking out notes on the keys.

She loved music so much. She practiced so hard. Even when she was sick, even when she'd break into a sweat after just a few minutes, she refused to stop.

Her voice was still so clear in my head. Small and sweet. "Mommy, if I win an international award, do you think Daddy would love me then?"

My throat tightened so fast it hurt. The grief pressed down on me from all sides and I could barely breathe. I made myself move, one leaden step at a time, toward the music room.

I set the urn gently on the small bench beside the piano. I lifted the lid, closed my eyes, and let my fingers find the keys. The melody came slowly, and with it came everything I'd been holding back. Every layer of grief and memory, torn open by the sound.

I hadn't touched this piano since my parents died. But tonight, I needed to play for Sophie one last time.

I played the same piece over and over until my hands cramped and I couldn't lift my fingers anymore.

---

By the next morning I looked destroyed. Like a weed nobody had bothered to tend, wilted and ragged at the edges.

The early light stabbed at my eyes.

The front door swung open and a tall figure stepped inside, long black coat cold from the outside air, the hem sweeping the hallway floor.

Charles. He finally showed up.

He didn't look at me once. He hung up his coat and said, flat and indifferent, "Sophie still sleeping?"

A hollow laugh scraped out of me. He'd gone and played happy family, and now he finally remembered he had a daughter.

My stomach turned.

He noticed the state I was in and looked over at me. First he froze. Then his brow slowly pulled together, a storm gathering behind his eyes. I could already tell what he was thinking. That I was being dramatic. Making a scene, same as always.

"I moved my morning meetings to be here. Go get Sophie. I'm taking her to piano."

Those words nearly broke me completely. I held myself together through sheer force of will.

Sophie had lessons three times a week. She'd always wanted her father there with her. The answer had always been no.

Then her health got worse and the lessons dropped to once a week. Right before her surgery, Charles finally promised to take her.

She was so excited that morning. She woke up early and put on her favorite white dress.

I thought it was going to be a good morning for her. Then at nine-thirty, her piano teacher called. By the time I got there, Sophie had collapsed on the floor.

That was when I found out Charles had canceled at the last minute. His assistant had just dropped her at the door and left.

Sophie had only wanted one thing. She wanted her classmates to stop teasing her for not having a dad. She just wanted him to show up once. That was it.

I couldn't let myself think too long about what must have been going through her mind when she realized he wasn't coming.

I stared at Charles, my eyes burning red. The hatred inside me felt hot enough to consume everything.

My voice shook and I couldn't stop it. "You don't ever have to take her anywhere again."

"What do you mean?" His frown deepened, impatient. "I don't have time for games. Go get her."

Something in me gave way completely. I felt myself come apart.

My face was hot and crumpling. Tears were running down my face. When I spoke, my voice came out wrecked and ragged, right on the edge of something wild.

"She's gone! Charles. Sophie is dead!"