The funeral home smelled of lilies and disinfectant. Elise sat in the front row, her black dress smooth against her thighs, Aaron's hand clasped tightly in hers. The past three days had been a blur of arrangements and phone calls, every decision feeling impossibly heavy. Aaron had taken charge, handling the details Elise couldn't bring herself to face, gently steering her when her mind drifted into the fog that seemed to envelop her.

  The casket was closed. Elise had fought for an open casket—needing, somehow, to see Lena one last time—but the funeral director had advised against it. "The medication and preservation process sometimes alters appearance," he'd explained with practiced solemnity. "It might be better to remember her as she was."

  Aaron had agreed immediately. "He's right, love. It would only upset you more."

  Now, staring at the gleaming mahogany box that held her sister, Elise felt a hollowness expand in her chest. It didn't seem real. None of it did.

  "You're holding up so well," whispered Claire, her best friend since college, who sat on her other side. "Lena would be proud of you."

  Elise didn't feel strong. She felt brittle, like a dried leaf that might crumble at the slightest touch. The only thing keeping her upright was Aaron's steady presence and the strange, detached state she'd slipped into.

  People began filing into the small chapel—colleagues from the elementary school where Elise taught, friends of Lena's from the art gallery where she'd worked, neighbors, and distant relatives. A sea of faces offering condolences that washed over Elise without leaving an impression.

  Until her mother arrived.

  Carla Matthews stood in the doorway for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the casket. She looked older than when Elise had last seen her, nearly two years ago. Grief had carved new lines into her face, making her seem fragile despite her rigid posture.

  When their eyes met, Elise felt a surge of complicated emotions—anger, longing, and a child's desperate need for comfort all tangled together. She hadn't called her mother when Lena died. Aaron had, explaining later that he thought it was the right thing to do, no matter how strained their relationship had been.

  Carla made her way slowly to the front row, hesitating before sitting beside Claire, leaving an empty seat between them. "Elise," she said, her voice raspy, as if she'd been crying or hadn't spoken in days. "I'm so sorry."

  Elise nodded stiffly but couldn't bring herself to speak. They hadn't talked—really talked—since the explosive argument on the anniversary of her father's death, when Carla had accused Elise of abandoning the family by moving across the country with Aaron. The words had cut deep, especially since Elise had spent years trying to hold them all together after her father died.

  "Mrs. Matthews," Aaron said, leaning forward to address her mother. "Thank you for coming. I know how much it means to Elise."

  Carla's eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Aaron. "Of course I came. She was my daughter."

  Something in her tone made Elise tense. Aaron squeezed her hand reassuringly, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm.

  "The service is beautiful," Carla continued, her gaze shifting to the casket. "Though I'm surprised it's closed."

  "It's what we thought best," Aaron replied smoothly.

  "I see." Carla's lips thinned. "And you made that decision."

  "We both did," Elise said quickly, finding her voice. "Aaron's been helping me. I couldn't—" Her throat closed around the words.

  "Of course." Carla's expression softened as she looked at her daughter. "I just thought... Lena would have wanted everyone to see her one last time. She was never one to hide."

  The observation struck Elise as profoundly true. Lena had been fearlessly open—in her art, her relationships, her emotions. It was part of what Elise had always admired about her sister, even when it led to messy situations.

  "It's too late now," Aaron said, his voice slightly harder. "The arrangements have been made."

  Carla looked as if she might argue further, but the funeral director approached, signaling it was time to begin. The exchange left Elise with an unsettled feeling, one that persisted as the minister—who had never met Lena—spoke generically about her "vibrant spirit" and "generous heart."

  When he invited family members to share memories, Elise found herself frozen, unable to distill her sister into anecdotes suitable for public consumption. Aaron spoke instead, offering polished stories about Lena's humor and kindness that somehow missed the essence of who she really was.

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  Carla didn't speak at all, her silence a palpable thing.

  ---

  After the service, they gathered at Elise and Aaron's house. Aaron had insisted on hosting, despite Elise's initial reluctance. "We need to be surrounded by support right now," he'd said. "And it's easier if we're on home ground."

  Elise moved through their living room in a daze, accepting condolences and mechanically thanking people for coming. Aaron stayed close, his hand often at her elbow, steering her toward certain guests and away from others.

  She was refilling her water glass in the kitchen when she found herself alone with her mother for the first time.

  "You look exhausted," Carla said, her voice gentler than it had been in years. "Are you sleeping at all?"

  Elise shook her head. "Not really. I keep thinking I'll wake up and this will all be some terrible dream."

  "I know." Carla hesitated, then reached out to touch Elise's arm. "I don't want to add to your pain right now, but there are things we should discuss. About Lena."

  Elise stiffened. "What things?"

  "She called me, about two weeks ago." Carla glanced toward the doorway, as if checking they were still alone. "She was upset about something. Wouldn't say exactly what, but she mentioned she was worried about you."

  "About me? Why?"

  "She didn't elaborate. But she said she was coming to see me the weekend after next. That she had something important to tell me." Carla's eyes filled with tears. "She never got the chance."

  The information didn't make sense. Lena hadn't mentioned any plans to visit their mother. They told each other everything, especially something that significant.

  "Are you sure?" Elise asked. "She never said anything to me about seeing you."

  "Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise," Carla suggested, though her tone indicated she didn't believe that. "Or maybe there were things she couldn't tell you."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I don't know, Elise." Carla sighed heavily. "But it doesn't feel right, does it? None of this does. Lena taking her own life?"

  Before Elise could respond, Aaron appeared in the doorway. "There you are," he said with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Claire was asking for you, sweetheart."

  "Aaron," Carla acknowledged coolly. "I was just telling Elise that Lena had planned to visit me soon."

  "Is that so?" Aaron came to stand beside Elise, his hand settling on the small of her back. "She never mentioned that to us."

  "No, apparently not." Carla held his gaze for a long moment. "She seemed troubled the last time we spoke. Did she seem that way to you?"

  Aaron frowned slightly. "Not at all. In fact, she was in great spirits when we had dinner last week. Excited about a new art series she was working on."

  Elise felt caught between them, the tension palpable. "Can we not do this right now?" she pleaded. "People are waiting."

  "Of course," Carla said immediately. "I'm sorry, Elise. This isn't the time." She moved toward the door, then paused. "But I'd like to talk more, when you're ready. Perhaps I could come by tomorrow?"

  Aaron answered before Elise could. "Tomorrow's not good. Elise has a doctor's appointment in the morning, and she needs to rest afterward."

  "I don't—" Elise began, confused. She didn't recall scheduling any appointment.

  "The grief counselor, remember?" Aaron prompted gently. "Dr. Bennett? We discussed it yesterday."

  Had they? Elise's memory felt hazy, the days since Lena's death bleeding into one another. It was possible she'd forgotten.

  "I see," Carla said carefully. "Another time, then. Soon." She squeezed Elise's hand once before leaving the kitchen.

  "Are you okay?" Aaron asked, his expression concerned. "Your mother shouldn't be upsetting you with theories and questions. Not today."

  "I'm fine," Elise said automatically, though she wasn't. Carla's revelation about Lena planning to visit her had unlocked something—a small, insistent doubt that echoed her own suspicions. "I just need some air."

  "Of course." Aaron led her through the house and onto their back deck, where the autumn air was crisp and cool. "Better?"

  Elise nodded, taking a deep breath. "Did I really schedule an appointment with a grief counselor?"

  "Yes, love." Aaron tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You've been forgetting things. It's normal, with shock and grief."

  "I guess." She stared out at their garden, the roses beginning to fade with the season. "Aaron, do you think there's any chance that Lena didn't... that she wouldn't have..."

  "Taken her own life?" he finished gently. "The police seemed certain. The note, the way she'd arranged everything..." He sighed. "I know it's hard to accept, but sometimes the people we think we know best have secrets."

  "But her ring was missing," Elise insisted. "And now my mother says she was planning to visit her, which Lena never told me about. It just feels wrong."

  Aaron turned her to face him, his hands warm on her shoulders. "Elise, I'm worried about you. You're looking for complications because the truth is too painful. It's understandable, but not healthy."

  His concern seemed genuine, his blue eyes searching hers with such intensity that Elise felt momentarily ashamed of her doubts. Aaron had been her rock through all of this, while she'd been falling apart.

  "You're probably right," she conceded. "I'm just... I miss her so much already."

  "I know." He pulled her into an embrace, his arms encircling her completely. "I've got you, though. We'll get through this together."

  Over his shoulder, Elise caught sight of Claire watching them through the window, her expression unreadable. When their eyes met, Claire gave a small, sad smile before turning away.

  ---

  The last guests left as evening fell. Elise was sitting on the couch, physically and emotionally drained, when Claire approached to say goodbye.

  "Call me if you need anything," she said, hugging Elise tightly. "Day or night, I mean it."

  "Thanks for everything today," Elise replied, grateful for her friend's steady presence.

  Claire hesitated, lowering her voice. "Your mom didn't stay long."

  "No." Elise sighed. "Things are still complicated between us."

  "She seemed upset when she left." Claire glanced toward the kitchen, where Aaron was cleaning up. "She also seemed worried about you."

  "She talked to you?"

  Claire nodded. "Just briefly. She asked me to check on you regularly. Said she didn't trust..." She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

  "Didn't trust what?"

  "The situation," Claire said carefully. "She didn't elaborate."

  Elise felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cooling evening. "That's strange."

  "Maybe grief is making her paranoid." Claire squeezed Elise's hand. "But I'll be checking on you anyway, because that's what friends do."

  After Claire left, Elise remained on the couch, turning the conversation over in her mind. What had her mother meant? What was she afraid of?

  Aaron appeared with two glasses of red wine, settling beside her. "You did well today," he said, handing her one. "I'm proud of you."

  Elise took a sip, welcoming the warmth that spread through her chest. "I still can't believe she's gone."

  "I know." Aaron pulled her close, his arm solid around her shoulders. "But you're not alone, Elise. You'll never be alone as long as I'm here."

  The wine, the exhaustion, and Aaron's comforting presence combined to lull Elise into a drowsy state. As her eyes grew heavy, her thoughts drifted to Lena's missing ring, her mother's cryptic warnings, the closed casket.

  Small details that nagged at her, even as sleep finally claimed her.

  She didn't notice when Aaron gently removed the wine glass from her slack fingers, didn't see him watching her with calculating eyes. Didn't feel him check her pulse, as if confirming something.

  She slept deeply that night, unaware that Aaron had slipped something into her wine—just enough to ensure she wouldn't wake when he left the house shortly after midnight, a small silver ring in his pocket, and drove to the lake at the edge of town.

  The ring made barely a splash as it disappeared into the dark water.