"Adrielle?" The familiar voice echoed once more.

I blinked, eyes adjusting to the white ceiling above. The dream still clung to me—vivid, haunting, the hill—and my chest tightened as the truth set in.

"Adrielle, you'll be late for the performance! You're coming, right?" Lorelei’s voice persisted, her figure coming into focus.

I sat up, hands shaking as they brushed my damp cheeks. Tears. I'd woken with them still flowing.

I swallowed hard, chest tightening. "It felt so real," I whispered, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like a shadow.

"Are you alright?" Lorelei asked.

Snapping back to the present, I called out, "Yes, Lorelei. I'll be ready shortly."

Wiping my face, I stood, shaking my head to clear the fog. But no matter how hard I tried, the vision of the hill, the snow, and the unspoken sorrow lingered, an unhealed scar in my mind.

Later, at the church, the sound of my violin filled the air, each note a tribute to what I had lost. But as the final hymn ended, soft voices beckoned, urging me to return—to the hill. Only then did the snow begin to fall as I climbed into the cab that would take me there.

I took a deep breath and received a reassuring pat on my back. "I know you'll be grumpy about the snow," Lorelei said. "Are you sure you want to go there alone?"

A smile tugged at my lips for the first time in years as the snow began to fall. "You wanna come?"

Lorelei hesitated. "Well, if you'd like some company."

I could really use someone to give me strength. And so, we drove together.

Snow crunched beneath my boots, the cold biting at my skin. I approached the graves, fingers trembling as I laid the flowers down. The wind carried a whisper through the barren trees, and then I saw it—a cluster of fresh flowers already placed.

"What...?" I murmured, kneeling. My eyes widened at the sight of an envelope tucked among the petals, my name scrawled across the front.

"I wonder who wrote that," Lorelei asked.

I hesitated before opening it. The paper crackled in the still air as I read:

If you ever find this, Adrielle, come and find me.

The address at the bottom was unmistakable. My aunt’s.

And so, I continued my journey. Thankfully, Lorelei stayed by my side.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman with streaks of grey in her hair and kind, yet sorrowful, eyes.

"Adrielle," my aunt said, eyes widened in surprise.

My throat tightened. "I found your letter... I needed answers."

She gestured me inside. "Come in, child. You deserve to know everything."

Seated by the fire, my aunt began. "Do you remember Kalista? Or even just the name?" she asked.

"I… I do now," I replied, my voice a little shaky.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you… I was… I was afraid because…" she trailed off, her words faltering as I touched her trembling hand.

"It's alright now, Auntie. Just please tell me what happened to her," I spoke softly.

"Kali was taken from us by leukaemia," she said, her hands tightly clasped around a cup of tea. "She didn’t tell anyone—even you—perhaps she didn’t want to burden us. But that’s not all..."

My breath hitched. "What else?"

My aunt looked away, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "My husband, as you know, is with the police. He discovered what happened to her and her family before you met her. Kali’s mother died of the same disease, and her father... he abandoned them. Left them for a new family when they needed him most."

The room was heavy with silence. Even Lorelei was moved by the sorrow unfolding before her.

“She was so young,” my aunt continued, her voice trembling. “But even then, she carried so much pain.”

Tears slid down both my and Lorelei’s cheeks. "Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she let me help?" I asked.

“Sometimes, people bear their burdens alone, thinking it’s the only way,” Lorelei said softly, trying to smile through her own tears.

I sat back, the snow outside falling steadily. A mix of sorrow and clarity washed over me. Though the answers didn’t bring Kali back, they gave me something else—a truth I could hold on to… and the peace I had longed for. She was finally happy in heaven, with our parents and her real mother. If I keep dragging myself down, I’ll only make her sad, too. I want her, Mum, and Dad to finally rest in peace. I want to be strong and carry on with my life.

As we left my aunt’s house that evening, I looked up at the sky, letting the snowflakes melt on my skin. "I’ll carry your story, Kali. Always."