The small funeral home sat at the end of a dead-end street, its parking lot filled with cars that looked too ordinary for a day like this.

You'd been standing outside for five minutes now. Long enough to see the other mourners filter in. Long enough to wonder if coming was a mistake.

The door creaked when you finally pushed it open.

Inside, the air smelled of old wood and lilies. A few rows of folding chairs faced a podium with a framed photograph — a middle-aged man with Elias's same soft eyes.

You spotted him immediately.

He was near the front, shoulders hunched in a black suit that didn't quite fit right. His girlfriend sat beside him, posture stiff, staring blankly ahead at nothing in particular.

Her hand wasn't on his back. Her arm wasn't looped through his. She wasn't even looking at him.

Then Elias turned his head.

His eyes found yours like they'd been waiting for you.

<Narrator>: For a second, neither of you moved. Then his face crumpled. He rose from his seat, walked past his girlfriend without a word, and crossed the room in four quick steps.