After sitting beside the coffin for hours, she hadn’t left for a single minute.
Her mother had tried several times to take her away, but Camila had refused.
She insisted on staying close to her father. She didn’t cry; she simply looked at him in silence.
People came to offer their condolences, someone felt pity for the young girl, but she did not respond. Her hands constantly rested on the edge of the coffin.
Julian’s body was dressed in the white shirt he loved so much, his arms crossed. He was pale but calm.
Her grandmother’s house was full of people. Some whispered, others wept, children ran around the garden, stunned. But Camila did not move.
From the moment she arrived, she refused to eat or sit down. She only asked for a chair to be closer to her father and to reach him.
Many thought the young girl was in shock. But the grandmother said:
— «Let it be. Everyone has their own way of saying goodbye.»
Her mother nodded wearily. Her face was exhausted, her eyes swollen, but she did not protest.
Hours passed. The atmosphere grew heavier and heavier.
Night fell, and the coffin still hadn’t been taken to the cemetery. The adults began to understand: it wasn’t the body that was the problem, but the child.
Camila fell silent. She sat on a chair, hands on the edge of the coffin, and looked only at her father.
Someone tried to speak, but she remained silent. She didn’t cry, didn’t move. It seemed as if she was waiting for something.
No one slept that night. Some whispered on the porch, others came inside to check the hallway.
Camila was still sitting nearby. Tired, but she didn’t want to lie down or leave. The grandmother threw a blanket over her shoulders.
Time passed, people were distracted: someone was smoking, someone was drinking coffee in the kitchen, the mother was dozing in a chair.
Then Camila climbed onto a chair, placed her knee on the edge of the coffin, and slowly climbed in. She moved carefully, as if she had planned everything. No one noticed until she was already lying on her father’s body, holding him tightly against her.
Her aunt turned around, saw this, and screamed. Everyone rushed over. Panic seized the hallway.
At first, they thought the girl had fainted. But as they got closer, everyone froze.
Julian’s hand was on Camila’s back. As if he had hugged her.
Someone was speechless; others claimed she must have moved his hand herself. But of course, it was there, slightly raised, as if he himself were moving.
A man tried to pull her away, but the grandmother stopped him:
— «Wait. Something unusual is happening.»
Camila did not move, but she did not seem unconscious either. Her breathing was steady, calm, as if she were sleeping in her father’s cold arms.
His palm—the same one that once held her during walks—now carefully covered her back. It was not frightening, but gentle. The aunt, who had screamed first, broke down in tears, not from horror, but from overwhelming emotion. The mother, paralyzed by grief, stood up, her eyes filled with both horror and hope.
A silence fell over the house. No more whispers, no more sobbing, no more children’s voices—only the little girl in the coffin and her father, as if to protect her. The air grew heavy, charged with an inexplicable emotion. The grandmother approached the coffin, stroked her granddaughter’s hair, and whispered:
— “So be it. Everything is alright.”
No one protested. The moment seemed sacred. Minutes stretched into eternity. Moonlight filtered through the window, filling the room with a strange glow, blurring the line between sleep and reality.
And suddenly, Camila took a deep breath. Her father’s hand once again rested on her chest.
The young girl opened her eyes. She looked around as if waking from a long sleep. Her gaze met her mother’s, trembling with despair and hope. Grandmother helped Camila out of the coffin. She immediately ran to her mother and hugged her tightly.
In that embrace, the pain eased and gave way to peaceful calm.
“Everything is alright, Mom,” Camila whispered. “Dad is sleeping, but he said he would always be with me.”
And only then did she cry. Bitterly, with all her heart. With love. With loss. With farewell.
And her mother held her, not letting go, until the air in the room lightened, as if the heaviness had finally lifted.
The farewell had taken place.
