That night, both Mallory and Stella lay beside Elizabeth, their heads resting near her waist, each of them holding onto her frail hands as if afraid to let go. Across the room, Agatha slept on the couch, her breathing steady in the quiet darkness.
Elizabeth stirred, her weary eyes fluttering open. A soft, knowing smile graced her lips as she gave their hands a gentle squeeze.
"You were ten when I first met you," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "And I don't know how time slipped away so fast."
Mallory and Stella remained still, lost in the depths of sleep, unaware that these would be the last words she'd ever speak to them.
"I love you both," Elizabeth continued, pressing a kiss onto each of their heads. "You will always be my stars, shining brightly. My heartbeats. The children I never had. And whatever happens… I will always be with you."
As she leaned back against the pillows, she exhaled slowly, a final, peaceful sigh escaping her lips. A serene smile lingered on her face as the last remnants of life slipped away.
The room remained silent. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor continued—until, suddenly, it faltered. Then it slowed. Then it stopped.
The first to stir was Mallory. Even in sleep, her instincts picked up on the shift in the air, the unnatural stillness. Her eyes blinked open, drawn immediately to the flatline on the monitor. The high-pitched alarm filled the room.
"Grams?"
Her voice cracked, and beside her, Stella jerked awake. The second she registered the sound, the panic set in.
"Gigi!"
Their pleas shattered the silence, raw and desperate.
The door burst open as doctors and nurses rushed in, their voices urgent, but all Stella and Mallory could do was watch as Elizabeth's body jerked under the force of the defibrillator.
Mallory gripped the bed railing, her knuckles white. "Wake her up! Do something!"
Agatha was there in an instant, pulling them into her arms, but they struggled against her, their grief too wild, too raw to be soothed.
"Hey, hey, calm down, kids," she murmured, her voice steady, but they didn't—couldn't.
Then, softly, Agatha whispered, "She knows it. She's gone."
Mallory stilled.
Stella froze.
The doctor turned toward them, solemn and weary. He didn't need to speak—the gentle shake of his head, the sadness in his eyes, told them everything.
Elizabeth was gone.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
After all the formalities were done, Stella and Mallory returned to the Adams house, but it no longer felt like home. Without their grandmother's presence, the walls seemed colder, the silence heavier, the very air suffocating.
Mallory disappeared into her room without a word. Stella did the same.
The moment she shut the door behind her, the weight of it all crashed down on her.
She broke.
Her shoulders trembled as silent sobs racked her body. Tears spilled down her cheeks, shining like glass shards in the dim light, but she didn't care anymore. She felt like everything was crumbling around her, slipping through her fingers, and she had no idea how to hold it together.
She didn't know how to move forward.
The Next Morning
Outside Stella's door, Agatha stood still, listening to the muffled sobs from within. Her own grief was a quiet storm beneath the surface, but she forced herself to be strong.
With a deep breath, she knocked.
"Sweetheart… it's time for the funeral. You need to come."
There was no response at first, only silence. Then, after what felt like forever, Stella stirred.
An hour later, she descended the stairs. Her face was pale, her movements slow, but her eyes… her eyes were hollow.
Mallory stood near the door, waiting. Her own eyes were slightly red, betraying the tears she had shed in the solitude of her room.
Stella looked at her. Guilt gnawed at her chest for the cruel words she had thrown at Mallory. None of it mattered anymore.
Without speaking, the two stepped out of the house, walking side by side toward the inevitable.
Today would be the last time they saw their grandmother.
Stella and Mallory stood side by side in the graveyard, surrounded by hundreds of mourners—some familiar, most strangers. People who had known Elizabeth in different ways, who had shared moments of laughter, wisdom, and warmth with her. Yet, despite the crowd, the two of them had never felt more alone.
Neither of them cried.
Mallory never did.
Stella simply couldn't.
The prayers were spoken, voices blending into the wind. The wooden coffin rested deep in the ground, waiting. Their fingers trembled as they placed handfuls of soil over it, the cold earth slipping through their fingers like time they could never get back. The roses followed, one after another, their deep crimson petals stark against the dark soil.
Then, as if the heavens themselves were mourning, the sky broke open.
The first drops of rain fell, soft at first, then heavier, soaking into the ground, mixing with the earth, as if refusing to let Elizabeth be buried alone.
Stella's breath hitched as she looked up, rain slipping down her face, mingling with the tears she refused to shed. A small, sad smile tugged at her lips.
"Looks like the Earth is crying too, Gigi," she whispered, her voice barely audible beneath the soft patter of rain.
She reached out, her fingers brushing against the damp soil. For a fleeting moment, she swore she could still feel the warmth of her grandmother's touch, the way Elizabeth used to squeeze her hand—reassuring, grounding. But it was gone, just like her.
"I love you," Stella murmured, her voice cracking as she stepped back, letting Mallory have her moment.
Mallory didn't say anything. She simply stared at the grave, her fists clenched at her sides. There were no words for the grief that sat heavy in her chest. No words for the guilt, the regret, the unbearable finality of it all.
After the burial, they made their way to the church, sitting in silence as prayers were spoken, as condolences were murmured. Faces blurred together, voices became distant hums. And then, one by one, the mourners left, returning to their homes, their lives, while Stella and Mallory remained frozen in place.
Back at the Adams house, the silence was deafening.
The home that had once been filled with warmth, with laughter, with Elizabeth's voice, felt empty. Hollow.
Stella stood at the front door, the key cold in her palm. She hesitated before locking it for the last time, her fingers tightening around the metal as if letting go of it meant letting go of her grandmother.
She turned to Agatha, pressing the key into her hand. Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"We're never selling it."
Agatha nodded, understanding the weight of those words.
Some things were meant to remain, even when the people tied to them were gone.