Five years had passed since she had lost her mother to a terrible illness. She stood at the foot of the gravestone, holding a small jar of white flowers in her hands; her father had told her they were her mother's favorites.
The cold wind of late afternoon blended with the tears streaming down her delicate face, which then fell onto the flower petals. Her head hung low, and her chest was so full of sorrow that she could utter only a few words.
— Mom... I...
The world around her seemed not to exist. Although she didn't remember much about her mother, the absence tormented her young heart. Until something touched her shoulder, bringing her back to the real world — even though it was a sad place for her.
— It's okay to cry.
Said a man who appeared to be around 35 years old. He was lame and walked with the aid of a cane. He wore an old lab coat and didn't seem to care about his messy hair or his cracked glasses.
— I'm not crying.
She said as she rubbed her face against her left arm. She tried her best to appear strong, but her father knew her well. After that, she crouched down and placed the jar of flowers on the ground, close to the gravestone.
— It looks like it's going to rain. I think we'd better head back home.
Then he placed his hand on Lily's head.
— I don't want you to catch a cold.
She showed a gentle smile as she stroked the blonde strands. Then, she walked back home. Lily stayed a little longer, watching the mist falling over the tombstone that read: "Mary Lincon."
. . .
She watched the rain through the window; her gaze remained empty. She sat at the wooden table; in her thoughts, few words were spoken: "Mom... I..."
— Here you go.
Her father said, carrying a bowl of soup in front of her; some pieces of pasta in the soup were shaped to spell her name, "Lily Lincon." She thought her father's gesture was a bit childish, but she didn't complain.
— Hey Lily, I know you're curious about what's in the basement.
— And since tomorrow is your birthday, I thought that...
He could sense her lack of interest; every time her birthday approached, she acted like this because her mother had died the day before. He remembered how hard it had been to overcome the loss and deal with his daughter's trauma.
— Are you even listening to what I'm saying?
— Oh, these kids nowadays.
He said jokingly, but nothing made Lily change her expression, until he decided to do something.
— Lily!
— What is it?
He stuck out his tongue and made some funny faces. She tried not to laugh, but couldn't. She burst out laughing like a happy little child.
— Mary wouldn't want to see you with that face, so put a smile on that face.
A small flicker of happiness appeared in her eyes. For her, that moment couldn't end; she wished the night would last forever, even if it seemed foolish to think so.
However, the next morning, something unexpected happened; it was as if misfortune pursued Lily until the day of her death.
Her father, the only family she had left, had gone to join her mother among the cotton candy clouds.
. . .
There was Lily, standing in front of her father's grave, beside her mother's. She held a single blue-petaled flower in her hands — her father's favorite.
She remembered seeing her father in bed, his cane thrown on the floor, the doctor using strange machines. The old man walked toward Lily.
"I'm very sorry."
The old man wore a sad expression; he couldn't say much, but he told her what had happened and then left. At that moment, she couldn't understand the reason for the apology. — My father died from coughing? That just wouldn't fit in her tiny brain.
Even though she was just a child, she was used to being alone. Life had been happier when her mother was alive; her father was often busy down in the basement. She was curious about what was there, but her father wouldn't let her in.
"Why can't I go in?"
"Be patient. Once it's ready, I'll show you."
But what was he hiding? Those questions didn't matter right now. She was alone, so alone. She had no close relatives.
Or so she thought.
. . .
e parked the car and spotted a girl a few meters from the house. He scratched his chin just as his phone rang.
— Who is it?
"I hope you keep your end of the deal."
— Don't worry about that. Have I ever let you down before?
"Don't mess this up. The boss is still angry about what happened earlier."
He rubbed his fingers hard against his forehead.
— Trust me, this time it will work.
"We don't want any more trouble with the police. We only saved your skin because you're a friend of the boss's son."
— That won't happen again.
The call ended.
Tsu
— A bunch of idiots.
He quickly put the phone back into his pants pocket. As he stepped outside, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket and began patting his pockets, searching for a lighter. After giving up, he returned the pack to his pocket.
He was a somewhat mysterious man, bearing a strong physical resemblance to Lily's father. He wore a dark, tailor-made suit that looked quite expensive—just like the car and the silver watch on his right wrist.
— Nothing's changed since the last time I was here.
— This will be quick.
He said, glancing at the hands of his luxury watch.
. . .
Nothing seemed to catch her attention; the blue flower petals falling on her small feet were carried away by the spring breeze. She had cried so much that no more tears dared to run down her delicate, youthful face.
Why did she have to suffer so much? What wrong had she done? Was she a bad child? These questions whispered in her mind. She had tried many times to avoid thinking that way, but she was still unable to do so.
— Excuse me, are you by any chance Lily Lincon?
Lily didn't hear; her mind was lost in some limbo she had created.
— Where is your father?
Noticing the girl's little reaction, he decided to look at the tombstone she was staring at.
— My father...
— He's dead.
His voice faltered with every word he spoke, and the little that remained of his tears decided to break free.
"Damn it!"
He said it in his mind, but then an idea came to him.
— I'm sorry for your loss.
When he placed his hand on Lily's shoulder, she pushed it away with a slap. That made him involuntarily look at the mysterious man's face.
— Fa...father?
— No, my dear, I'm not your father.
He adjusted the watch on his wrist.
— I'm your uncle, though not a very present one.
— A... and what do you want?
Lily's voice was slowly coming back.
— Is that any way to talk to your uncle?!
He took a deep breath.
— It will be difficult for someone so young to live alone in this house.
Once again, he placed his hand on her shoulder, this time crouching down slightly, showing a gentle smile.
— Don't worry, I will take care of you.
— Now go pack your bags.
He quickly withdrew his hand and walked back to the car.
— Wait, I can't do that.
The man turned around.
— What do you mean you can't?
— This house belongs to mom and dad.
She took a deep breath.
— Remember one thing: your parents are dead.
It was painful for Lily to hear that, but it was the absolute truth.
— I know that, but I feel like they're here, something tells me so.
— Go now!
— I won't!
The man had already lost his temper. In his anger, he slapped Lily.
— Being nice won't get you anywhere.
Lily was lying on the floor, finger marks visible on her small pale face.
— Since you're just a child, I'll give you three days to leave this house.
— You can't do that!
— Of course I can! Who do you think will help you, huh?!
— No one! Because everyone you love is dead!
The phone started ringing.
— Who's calling?
— I understood.
He turned to Lily and said,
— I'll say it just one more time—you have only three days.
He quickly put away the phone and left. Lily remained on the floor, her dress dirty and the mark on her face still burning. She tried to hold back the urge to cry, but she couldn't.
Why was the world so cruel to her?