When Celine opened her eyes, the world was too quiet.
The first thing she noticed was the ceiling — pale, unfamiliar, with a soft flickering light. The second was the dull ache at the back of her head. And the third, which came rushing in like a tidal wave, was the memory.
Her parents.
The accident.
The doctor's voice.
"I'm very sorry."
Celine sat up abruptly, panic surging through her chest, but a pair of steady hands gently eased her back down.
"Easy," a soft voice said. "You fainted. You need to rest."
It was Mrs. Andrew.
Loveth was beside her too, eyes swollen from crying, holding a warm cloth. She looked like she'd aged years in just a few hours. Celine could see the pain etched deep into her face, and somehow that made everything feel more real.
"No..." Celine whispered. "No. Please tell me it's not true."
Mrs. Andrew leaned closer and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "Celine... I'm so sorry. We are all so sorry."
Celine shook her head. "No. No, this has to be a mistake. I just... I just saw them. They were fine. We laughed last night. They kissed me goodnight."
She was trembling. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she gripped the edge of the hospital blanket like a lifeline.
"I didn't say thank you enough," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't say 'I love you' this morning. I didn't even check to see where they were going. I just... I was playing games... I was laughing..."
Loveth finally broke her silence. She leaned over and hugged Celine tightly, both of them weeping in each other's arms.
"You did nothing wrong, Celine," Loveth said through her tears. "They loved you. They were proud of you. Every day. They told me that all the time."
But Celine didn't answer. She couldn't. Her grief had no words. Just silence. Heavy and crushing.
---
The Days That Followed
The funeral happened five days later. A double burial. Two coffins — one brown, one white — were lowered side by side into the ground beneath a large tree in the cemetery, where the wind blew softly and the birds dared not sing.
Celine wore a simple black dress. No makeup. No jewelry. Her once-glowing skin was pale, and her eyes were permanently rimmed with red. She didn't speak much. She just watched as shovels of dirt fell over her parents' coffins, each thud like a nail in her chest.
After the burial, people came to express condolences. Distant relatives. Neighbors. Church members. Most spoke kindly. Some spoke too much. Some didn't know what to say and simply patted her shoulder awkwardly.
Mr. Andrew had taken charge of most of the logistics, quietly handling paperwork and burial arrangements while shielding Celine from the noise. Mrs. Andrew never left her side, not even for a moment. Loveth, meanwhile, became both nurse and guardian, always ready with a cup of tea, a change of clothes, or a shoulder to cry on — whatever Celine needed.
But grief was a strange thing. It didn't follow rules. It didn't respect time. One moment Celine would feel numb, floating through the hours like a ghost. The next, she would be curled in bed, shaking from sobs that refused to stop.
Her once-lively sketchbook lay untouched on her desk. Her pencils stayed sharp. Her room was too quiet.
---
One Week Later
One morning, Celine sat on the edge of her bed, staring out of the window. The sun was rising slowly, casting gold over the rooftops. It should have been a beautiful day. Her birthday flowers were still in a vase by her mirror, now dry and crumbling.
There was a knock on the door.
It was Mr. Andrew.
"Can I come in?"
She nodded faintly.
He entered and took a seat beside her, hands clasped together.
"I know this has been hard," he said softly. "And I can't even begin to understand the pain you're in. But your parents left something behind — something very special."
Celine turned toward him, her expression empty.
"They left you, Celine. They poured everything they had into raising you. They believed in your dreams. Your talent. Your strength. They would never want you to stop living."
Tears welled up in her eyes again. "I don't know how to live without them."
"You don't have to figure it all out today. Or tomorrow. But I want you to know you're not alone. You have us. Me, my wife, Loveth. And…" — he reached into a leather folder and pulled out a letter — "your father left this with the lawyer. For you. In case... in case anything ever happened."
Celine stared at the envelope. Her hands trembled as she reached for it.
She recognized the handwriting. It was definitely her father's.
She opened it slowly. Inside, in his bold but warm script, it read:
---
"My dearest Celine,
If you're reading this, it means life has done something we never expected. And for that, I'm so sorry.
But if there's one thing I want you to remember, it's this:
You were always our joy. Our light. Our miracle.
Your mother and I may not be there to guide you anymore, but everything we taught you — every value, every lesson — is still alive inside of you.
Go forward. Dream boldly. Live bravely. And when it's hard, look within — you'll find us there.
We love you always.
– Dad."
---
By the end, Celine couldn't hold the tears back. But this time, they weren't just tears of grief — they were tears of connection, of memory, of something deeper than loss.
That night, for the first time since the accident, she picked up her sketchbook again.
She didn't know what she would draw. But she opened to a fresh page, and let her pencil move.
A healing had begun.