Unexpected Lines.

Returning to Old Patterns?

Nobody's POV

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The morning of the funeral was quiet, too quiet. The house had been full of movement in the days leading up to it—neighbors dropping off food, family friends stopping by with gentle hands on shoulders, hushed voices in the hallway—but now it felt like everyone had run out of words.

Kaia hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of the house since the night Stevie passed. Not Jill. Not Caitlin. Not Alexia or Alba. Only Steph, Dan, and her mum. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to—it was that she couldn’t. Words sat heavy in her chest, pressing against her throat but refusing to come out.

She stood in front of the mirror in black, her hair pulled back simply. Her hands smoothed down her dress though there was nothing to fix. Her eyes were red, raw from nights spent staring at the ceiling, replaying Stevie’s final moments over and over. His voice, his last smile, the way he had asked for her stories.

When they arrived at the church, Kaia’s chest tightened. Stevie’s photo sat at the front, framed by flowers, his smile frozen in time. She almost couldn’t look. She wanted to remember him alive, teasing her about football, calling her “kiddo,” clapping too loudly from the sidelines. Not like this.

The service started with hymns she barely heard. People got up to speak—old friends, colleagues, a neighbor who described Stevie as “the man who would give you the shirt off his back.” Kaia’s mum spoke through broken sobs, clutching the lectern like it was the only thing holding her up. Steph read something she’d written but had to stop halfway, voice breaking. Dan stepped in to finish it for her, his own voice trembling.

Then Kaia felt a nudge. Her mum. Steph. Both looking at her.

Her throat closed. She shook her head quickly, panic rising. But Steph squeezed her hand. “He’d want to hear from you.”

Kaia walked up to the front on unsteady legs. She hadn’t prepared anything. She hadn’t wanted to. But when she stood there, looking at his picture, words spilled out anyway.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she started, her voice soft, breaking in places. “I think I’m still waiting for him to walk in with that big smile and tell us all to stop crying. That’s what he’d want. For us to laugh instead of cry. But…” Her eyes blurred as tears gathered again. “He wasn’t just… my stepdad. Or my mum’s husband. He was my dad. He chose me. He didn’t have to. And even when I found out about who my biological father was, Stevie never made me feel less his. He was always there. Always proud. Always… mine.”

She paused, gripping the edge of the lectern so tightly her knuckles whitened. “And I’ll never stop being grateful for that. For him. For everything he gave me. For every single second I got with him.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. She didn’t try to fix it. She just stepped down, back to her seat, where Steph pulled her into a hug.

The coffin was carried out not long after, the sound of footsteps echoing in the silence. Kaia followed behind with her family, the sunlight too bright, the air too sharp as if the world dared to keep turning without him.

As they lowered him into the ground, Kaia felt her chest shatter all over again. She stood between Steph and Dan, holding their hands so tightly her nails dug into their skin.

She whispered, almost to herself, “I’ll look after them. I promise.”

Only Steph heard, squeezing her hand back, sobbing harder.

Kaia didn’t speak again for the rest of the day.

Steph left first, heading back to London. Dean was waiting for her there, and she wanted nothing more than the familiarity of his arms after the past few days. Kaia stood by the doorway as the taxi drove off, feeling the emptiness of the house press in around her.