Joseph looked away and seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Nobody knew what he was thinking while jolo and Christine chatted away.
After thirty minutes, they arrived at the funeral parlor. The parlor was already full of people who were friends, business partners, relatives, and some familiar faces from the old days.
Christine;s body stiffend the moment Joseph stopped the car.
Through the tinted window, she could already see people standing near the entrance. Some were dressed in black, some in white, and some wore expensive clothes that looked more suitabe for a social event than a wake. they were talking in low voices, but from the way some of them turned their heads toward the car, Christine already knew that their arrival did not go unnoticed.
Her fingers tightened around the pouch on her lap.
She suddenly felt like she was fifteen again. The girl who had no voice. The girl who had been judged before she could even explain. The girl who was sent away because someone ele's lie were louder than her truth.
"Christine,"Jolo called gently.
She blinked and turned to him.
"You don't have to go in right away. We can wait for a few minutes." he said.
"No," she replied, forcing a small smile. "Let's just get it over with."
Joseph, who had already gotten out of the car, opened the door for her. Christine looked at his extended hand. For a second, she hesitated. She could feel Jolo watching from the front seat, and she could also feel Joseph's silent impatience.
In the end, she placed her hand in Joseph's hand.
His hand was warm, firm and steady. Too steady, as if he was silently telling her that no one could touch her as long as he was there. It felt strange. She must be hallucinating. She pushed the idea aside and stepped out of the car.
The moment she stood beside Joseph, several heads turned toward them. The murmurs near the entrance became softer, then sharper, as though everyone had lowered their voices but sharpened their words.
Christine pulled her hand away.
Joseph did not let go immediately.
She looked at him.
He held her gaze for a second before releasing her.
"Stay close," he said.
"I know how to walk, Joseph."
"I know," he replied, his voice cold and calm. "But some people here don't know how to behave."
Jolo got out of the car and closed the door behind him. He looked between them and raised an eyebrow.
"That almost sounded sweet, bro."
Joseph ignored him and started walking toward the entrance.
Christine followed beside Jolo. She kept her chin up, but her stomach twisted with every step. The closer they got, the clearer the whispers became.
"Is that Christine?"
"She really came back?"
"I thought she would not dare show her face here."
"She looks different now."
"She became famous, right? A model?"
"She still looks like Celine."
Christine stopped walking for half a second.
Her heart gave a painful thud.
She still looks like Celine.
Of all the things they could have said, that was the one that struck deepest. She did not want to look like the woman who had deceived her. She did not want to have any reminder of the person who had destroyed her childhood. But blood was cruel that way. It left marks even when love did not.
Jolo noticed her pause. "Are you okay?"
Christine nodded. "I'm fine."
But Joseph, who was a few steps ahead, turned back. His eyes found her face immediately. He did not ask anything, but his expression told her he had heard it too.
Christine looked away first and continued walking.
Inside, the scent of flowers, candles, perfume, and grief welcomed her.
The chapel room was wide and decorated with white curtains, white lilies, and framed photographs of Celine. The coffin was placed at the center, surrounded by wreaths from politicians, business partners, and old family friends. Beside the coffin stood a large portrait of Celine, smiling faintly, her face elegant, proud, and almost gentle.
Christine stared at the portrait.
For a moment, everything around her became silent.
That face.
That beautiful face.
People had admired it. Men had desired it. Women had envied it. That face could smile warmly in public while hiding cruelty behind closed doors. That face had fooled so many people, including Christine's father.
Christine's throat tightened.
"So this is how it ends," she whispered.
Jolo heard her, but he did not answer.
Joseph stood behind them. He watched Christine's shoulders stiffen. He saw her eyes fixed on the coffin, but he knew she was not simply looking at a dead body. She was looking at years of pain. Years of unanswered questions. Years stolen from her by lies he had once believed.
Regret moved through him like a blade.
Cecilia approached them hurriedly. Her eyes were red from crying, and she looked exhausted. When she saw Christine, relief crossed her face.
"Christine, you came."
Christine turned to her and nodded. "Yes."
Cecilia reached for her hand. "Your mother would have wanted—"
Christine gently pulled her hand away.
The words died in Cecilia's throat.
Christine lowered her eyes. "I am here to pay respect. That is all."
Cecilia looked hurt, but she nodded. "I understand."
An awkward silence settled between them.
Jolo cleared his throat. "Where is Claire?"
"She is in the private room with the nanny," Cecilia said. "She cried earlier and fell asleep. Poor child. She keeps asking why her mother won't wake up."
Christine's face softened. "I'll see her later."
"She has been asking for you," Cecilia added.
Joseph looked at Christine when he heard that. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Before Christine could answer, a woman's voice came from the side.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to appear."
Christine's body stiffened.
Jolo's face immediately darkened.
Joseph's jaw tightened.
Christine slowly turned and saw Donna walking toward them.
Donna was wearing a fitted black dress that hugged her figure perfectly. Her hair was styled neatly, her makeup soft enough to look mournful but still beautiful. Her eyes were slightly red, but Christine knew Donna well enough to wonder whether those tears were real or carefully prepared.
Donna stopped in front of them and looked at Christine from head to toe.
"I thought you would hide forever," Donna said.
Her voice was soft, but several people nearby heard it. A few guests pretended to look at the flowers while listening closely.
Christine looked at her calmly. "I almost did. But then I remembered I didn't do anything wrong."
The air changed.
Donna's smile stiffened.
Jolo's lips twitched as if he was stopping himself from laughing.
Joseph glanced at Christine, and for a fleeting moment, there was something like approval in his eyes.
Donna stepped closer. "This is not the place for your attitude, Christine. A woman is dead."
Christine's eyes moved briefly toward Celine's coffin before returning to Donna.
"I know," she said. "That is why I am being careful with my words."
Donna's fingers tightened around the black handkerchief she was holding.
"People are grieving," Donna said, her voice trembling slightly. "You should at least respect that."
"I do respect grief," Christine replied. "I just don't respect people who use it as a stage."
Donna's eyes widened.
Several guests fell silent.
Cecilia looked nervously from Christine to Donna, unsure whether to interfere.
Donna turned toward Joseph with pitiful eyes.
"Joseph, I am only concerned. There are many people here. People are already talking. Her presence might cause trouble."
Joseph looked at her coldly.
"She is family," he said.
Donna froze.
Christine also froze.
Those three words struck harder than she expected.
She is family.
For years, Christine had been treated like an outsider in the Arante household. She had been watched, judged, accused, and eventually pushed away. Even when her father was alive, she had never truly felt like she belonged there.
And now Joseph had said it in front of everyone.
Calmly.
Firmly.
As if there was no room for disagreement.
Donna's face twitched, but she quickly lowered her head. "Joseph, I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant," Joseph interrupted.
His voice was quiet, but the warning in it was clear.
Donna swallowed her words.
Jolo stepped beside Christine and smiled at Donna. "You should rest, Donna. You look tired."
Donna looked at him sharply, but she could not lash out in front of everyone. She forced a weak smile.
"I just don't want Aunt Celine's wake to become a scene."
Christine looked at her. "Then don't make one."
The silence that followed was colder than the air-conditioned room.
Donna's lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes flashed with anger before she lowered them again and clutched her handkerchief like a wounded woman.
"You really have changed," Donna whispered.
Christine's expression did not move.
"No," she said. "I just stopped apologizing for things I didn't do."
Joseph's gaze stayed on her.
Something about her voice made his chest tighten. She sounded calm, but underneath that calm was pain. Not weakness. Not surrender. Pain that had hardened into strength.
Donna wanted to answer, but a group of elderly women approached Joseph and offered condolences. She had no choice but to step back.
Christine released a breath.
Jolo leaned closer to her. "That was beautiful."
Christine gave him a warning look. "Don't start."
"I'm serious. I almost clapped."
Despite herself, Christine almost smiled.
Joseph saw it.
His eyes moved from Christine's face to Jolo's. The softness in his expression disappeared.
"Jolo," he said coldly.
"What?" Jolo asked innocently.
"Go check on Claire."
Jolo raised an eyebrow. "Why me?"
"Because I said so."
Jolo looked at Christine, then at Joseph, then back at Christine. A teasing smile appeared on his face.
"Fine. I will check on Claire. Christine, call me if someone bullies you."
"I can handle myself."
"I know. That is why I want to watch."
"Jolo," Joseph warned again.
Jolo laughed and walked away.
Christine and Joseph were left near the flower arrangements. Around them, people resumed their conversations, but Christine could still feel their eyes.
She looked at Celine's coffin again.
The polished wood gleamed under the lights. It looked expensive, elegant, and cold. Just like the woman inside it.
"Thank you," Christine said quietly.
Joseph turned to her. "For what?"
"For saying I am family."
Joseph did not answer immediately.
His gaze became deeper. He looked at her as if there were many things he wanted to say but had no right to speak.
"You were always family," he said.
Christine smiled bitterly. "That is not how I remember it."
Joseph's hand moved slightly, as if he wanted to reach for her. But he stopped himself.
"I know," he said.
Those two words were heavy.
Christine looked at him, surprised. For once, there was no coldness in his voice. No arrogance. No command. Just something that sounded almost like regret.
Before she could say anything, an elderly man approached Joseph. He was one of Celine's business partners, and Joseph had no choice but to turn away to greet him.
Christine stepped aside.
She looked around the room, searching for a place where she could breathe. But everywhere she looked, there were faces. Faces she knew. Faces she had forgotten. Faces that remembered her in ways she wished they did not.
Then her eyes landed on the coffin again.
Slowly, she walked toward it.
Every step felt heavy.
When she reached the coffin, she stood still.
Celine's face was peaceful, almost unfamiliar. Death had softened the sharpness of her expression. Her lips were pale, her eyes closed, her hands folded over her chest.
Christine stared at her.
"You really look harmless now," she whispered.
Her voice was too low for anyone else to hear.
"I waited for you to tell me the truth. I waited for you to look at me once without hatred. I waited for you to be my mother, even for one day."
Her eyes burned, but she did not cry.
"But you never did."
A strange emptiness settled in her chest.
She had thought she would feel anger. Maybe hatred. Maybe relief. But standing there, looking at the woman who had given birth to her and destroyed her, Christine only felt tired.
So tired.
Behind her, Joseph watched.
He did not hear her words, but he saw her lips move. He saw the way she stood before Celine's coffin like a child waiting for an answer from someone who would never speak again.
His fists clenched at his sides.
He remembered the girl she had been five years ago. Young, frightened, and stubbornly brave. He remembered how easily he had believed what he had been told. He remembered how he had punished her with silence. How he had let her leave.
He had thought he was protecting his family.
But perhaps he had only protected the lies.
Christine finally stepped back from the coffin.
She turned, and her eyes met Joseph's.
For a second, neither of them moved.
There were too many things between them. Too much pain, too much misunderstanding, too much desire, too much pride.
Then a small voice broke through the silence.
"Big sister Christine?"
Christine turned quickly.
Claire stood near the side door, wearing a simple white dress. Her hair was tied with a black ribbon, and her eyes were swollen from crying. The nanny stood behind her, looking helpless.
Christine's heart clenched.
Claire looked so small.
So lost.
The little girl took one trembling step forward.
"Big sister Christine," she called again, her voice breaking.
Christine did not think. She immediately walked toward her and knelt down.
Claire ran into her arms.
The moment Christine held her, Claire burst into tears.
"Mommy won't wake up," Claire sobbed against her chest. "They said she went to heaven. Why didn't she say goodbye?"
Christine closed her eyes and hugged her tightly.
Around them, the room became silent again.
Christine rubbed Claire's back gently. "I don't know, sweetheart."
"I called her. I called her many times."
"I know."
"She didn't answer."
Christine swallowed hard. "Sometimes people leave before we are ready."
"I don't want her to leave."
Christine's lips trembled. "I know."
Claire pulled back and looked at her with wet eyes.
"Will you leave too?"
Christine froze.
Joseph stood a few steps away, looking at them. Jolo had returned and was standing near the doorway. Cecilia was crying silently. Even the guests seemed to be waiting for Christine's answer.
Christine gently wiped Claire's tears.
"No," she said softly. "I won't leave you tonight."
Claire hugged her again.
Christine held her close.
For tonight.
That was all she could promise.
Not forever.
Not yet.
But for tonight, she would stay.