The day of Lillian’s funeral, the sun was shining brightly—just like the day she was born.
I wore a long black dress, with a small paper brooch pinned to my chest.
Lillian had made it for me the first time Isabella flaunted the brooch Sebastian had gifted her. Back then, I had been heartbroken over his betrayal, and my little girl had clung to me, anxious to cheer me up. After a long time, she had crafted a wobbly, misshapen brooch out of paper and handed it to me with a hopeful smile.
My sweet Lillian—always so thoughtful. Maybe that’s why heaven took her back. She was simply too precious for this world.
Numbly, I held onto the urn, sitting at the front. Cassandra stood beside me, pushing my wheelchair.
Next to us were piles of things I had bought for Lillian. She never had the chanc
