As she walked out, she turned back one last time, her heart clearly still in that room. In that moment, I realized grief looks different on small shoulders.

Later at home, the quiet felt heavier than any words could express. Our stepmother, Rebecca, sat at the table with her hands clasped, sadness written across her face. Lily slipped into my bed without speaking and hugged Dad’s photo close, her tiny heart holding on to comfort. I kissed her forehead and thought she finally slept. But at midnight, she was gone.

I ran outside and found her at the funeral home, lying peacefully beside Dad, her head resting against him as if listening for his heartbeat in the stillness. Soft candlelight glowed around them. Behind us, Rebecca stood in shock, tears filling her eyes—not from fear, but from a truth she finally felt. Lily wasn’t holding on to sorrow—she was saying goodbye in her own gentle way. And in that moment, we all understood something beautiful: love never leaves… it simply learns to live in our hearts.