The older folks mingling in the pews around us described it as a lovely service. How a child's funeral could ever be described as "lovely" was beyond my imagining.

Emma stared blankly ahead as I gently pulled her to her feet and wrapped a guiding arm around her shoulder. She blinked, but said nothing as she let me pull her along the aisle. I caught Toni's eye at the back of the church and he nodded in understanding before slipping out the back to retrieve the car.

It was raining, which I naively hoped would deter any paparazzi from defiling the somber ceremonies.

My throat constricted as the tiny casket was swallowed up by the ground. I tightened my hold round Emma, but she hardly seemed to notice.

She had been crying since the morning we'd found out, but now it appeared her cheeks had dried.

My own began to dampen again as the priest recited a poem for Alice:

Our darling has gone to the Angels above;

Where there's nothing but

happiness, joy and love.

Gone from this world, so full of strife;

Back to the God that gave her life.

But rejoice that God chose

our sweet flower for His own;

And has taken her back to His Heavenly home.

"Damn Him," I thought heard Emma hiss as the final line of the poem echoed in the silent cemetery.

I glanced down to see if it had in fact been Emma's voice, but her lips were still pushed together in a thin line and her eyes void of any sign of life.

I held her tighter to me, willing her to feel me with her.

But she remained as she was.

💕