“Lily,” I called softly, my voice almost lost in the cavernous silence of the funeral home. She didn’t respond, her small form still nestled against our father’s lifeless body. I took a tentative step forward, my bare feet whispering across the cold floor.
Rebecca’s composure shattered as she turned to face me, her expression a blend of despair and guilt. “She shouldn’t know,” Rebecca whispered, as if speaking too loudly would break some fragile spell. Her voice was strained, filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“What does she know?” I asked cautiously, my gaze shifting between Rebecca and Lily. My heart pounded with the urgency of needing to understand, to unravel the mystery that had woven itself around our family.Lily’s voice rose, clearer now, as she softly repeated the words I had missed before. It was a message, a plea — something that cut through the veil of grief and mystery. “Daddy’s secret,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes. “He told me, he told me what happened.”