It wasn't easy, you know, going to Lincoln's funeral. Time had no meaning, but for some reason, the world kept spinning. The Loud family could have sworn that the air was bleak and sour, the skies were grey and heavy, but that day was like any ordinary day.
The ceremony was vacant, leaving the Louds to mourn with peace and quiet. An hour ago, they brought in the casket and carried it to Lincoln's bit of land. The memory was fresh as the eldest sisters and their mother lifted the casket high into the air. They marched, not carrying Lincoln alone, but their burdens and sorrow. Rita tried to keep a firm face but a small sniffle was all it took to destroy her. The mother's eyes were glossy, her lips curled and her legs trembled. Luan noticed and before her mother could fall, Luan reached out and held the casket up.
Her mother cried and wailed. She hid her face in the palm of her hands. The wet grass scratched her knees and the cold wind brushed against her back, somewhat supporting her and telling her to push on.
After a minute of crying, she did.
The father was in the back, dragging himself along, watching as his daughters effortlessly carried his son away. He tried to carry it too, but he couldn't do it. Any time he laid a hand on that casket, his stomach burned and his heart ached. He didn't want to convince himself that his son was dead, he simply refused.
Lily was in his arms. She grabbed onto his black vest and tugged. The heavy bags under his eyes pulled his face down. A sudden wave of anguish washed over him and before he knew it, the father had silently apologized to Lily.
Now, the Louds surrounded the casket, an aura of comfort and warmness that contradicted the dreaded occasion. They didn't want to leave. Their souls wouldn't let them because once they all left, Lincoln would be truly gone.
God, when did happened?
The sad news came in a week ago. Rita was cooking when she heard a knock at the door. She growled and wiped her wet hands on her apron. She answered the door and two cops stood there like Giants. One's face was sharp and old, his eyes were as tough as he looked. The other was a young man, smooth skin and baby cheeks.
They both stood firm. The eldest man brought a fist to his lips and cleared his throat. He broke the news.
"Good day ma'am. You're son's dead."
At least, that's how it sounded like. Too quick for Rita to fully comprehend. But in reality, the two men were sentimental. Their tones were soft and tender. The eldest cop talked like he was reading off a script that was well engraved into his mind.
Damn, Rita cried and really made a scene. Like the generic 'broken mother' type. But her feelings were genuine. At that point everyone huddled up at the front door, looking for answers.
Rita forgot how Lincoln died. She knew the cops told her, but she honestly drowned them out. Her eyes were wide and her heart raced. Sirens went off in her mind and she mind flashed red. There was no light in her eyes, just an empty, shocked face. Her kids probably remembered, they were there.
It was an explosion, if she could recall. Lincoln blew himself up in an old abandoned factory at the far outskirts of the city. At least, that's what the police told the Louds. The cops also said that they found a scorched photo of Lincoln tucked under one of the body's belly as if desperately trying to protect it. They assumed that was Lincoln's body.
There were four other scorched bodies in the factory but they were unidentifiable, way beyond recognition. Unfortunately, since the detectives and cops are idiotic bitches, they "accidentally" mixed the bodies.
So that's how the Louds ended up here, at this funeral ceremony with a bodiless casket. But the casket was filled with an abundance of Lincoln's precious belongings: a pile of old comic books he loved to read, Bun-Bun, some of his clothes, beautiful flowers, and, most importantly, a family photo.
The one he loved so much. The one with the brownish, dirty tint. The one with all of them in it, smiling and genuinely happy. It was a kind of a final gift to Lincoln.
This funeral was beyond your average, conventional funeral. It was more spiritual if anything. And to be honest, that was perfectly fine by the Louds. They'd rather do this than have a random, burned body in the casket. Ugh, just thinking about it made their stomachs turn. Burying a body under Lincoln's name. Heartless.
Everything came alive again. The sky was suddenly replaced by grey clouds. The sound of the weeping family rang in the air, but some stayed strong. It was Lynn, Luna, and Lori that managed to keep a straight face. Yes, their eyes were full of sorrow, but they needed to stay strong for their younger sisters. Or at least, that's what they made themselves believe.
Lori dug her sharp nails into the palm of her skins. Her skin began to split under her dull nails. Luna bit the inside of her mouth. The taste of iron blood eventually ran down her tongue. Lynn watched tentatively, her eyes moving all around the casket then to her family. The three tried to keep their tears at bay, but they were failing miserably. Hm, they tried to look tough.
The twins were hugging each other and weeping openly. Lola threw all her weight on Lana, leaning on her tomboyish sister for support. The little princess buried her face in the crack of her sister's neck and hid. She sniffled and sobbed loudly.
Lucy was crying through quick gasps of air. The goth's gloomy view and interests of everything dark changing instantly.
Lisa's face was frozen and stoic, much like the other three, but the fat tears that ran down her cheeks were truly her own.
Lynn sighed. Her chest was tight and breathing felt impossible. She tried to ring up any memories before this. Her mistakes and wicked actions ran through her mind, but she stopped at a man she remembered. She hardly talked to him, but his face was recognizable, his name wasn't. What was it, Lynn thought, Frank? Fred? France?
Something like that.
She remembered Lincoln calling that fool his "friend". She scoffed. She looked around, reassuring herself that this "friend" wasn't here. Yeah right, what true friend doesn't show up to his other friend's funeral. She was a little mad at this guy, but whatever. This Frank guy can go fuck himself. Her attention was needed elsewhere.
The marble gravestone glimmered under some light. The gravestone was upright and tall, around waist level. It was one of the priciest gravestones that the Louds could afford, but still simple and eloquent. Money was definitely no problem, Lincoln made sure of that. For all his generosity, the least his family could do was give him a comfortable rest.
There was a goldish plaque planted on top of the gravestone. It had everything you needed to know about him:
Lincoln C. Loud
(1922-1933)
Son, Brother, Friend.
Reading that over and over was completely crushing. At that moment, a raindrop fell on the wooden casket. Just a single drop, like a tear from an angle. It ran down the side of the slick casket and disappeared
Luckily, the day passed quickly. Night covered the world in a coat of darkness. The beautiful stars lost its amazing spark, simply turning into lights in the sky.
A curtain of silence fell on the Louds as they left their van and walked into their home. They slithered up to their rooms and to their beds in utter silence, as if a gentle glass would break by the sounds of their rough voices.
What else were they supposed to do?
Their world was crashing around them as the feeling of a tight, ominous grip squeezed their hearts. The parents went to their room, a pregnant silence filling the air, and stood there. Both mother and father took a random spot on the wall and stared. Their smooth breathing was matched, growing heavier and heavier.
They looked at each other, their nervous glances reluctantly meeting. With a mental agreement, both mother and father dragged themselves to their shared bed. They undressed as they marched.
Lynn loosened up his black tie and tossed the matching hat off his bolding head. The necktie rolled off his neck as he pulled off his heavy coat, landing with a thud on the floor.
Rita pushed the dark veil over her face and pushed the shoulder straps off her smooth skin. She reached for her back and unzipped the dress, all its weight falling off of her and down to the cold floor.
Both threw themselves on the bed. Landing with a muffled grunt. They both stared up at the ceiling. They didn't look at each other or talked to each other.
Doing anything at the moment would fill them with hot disgust and shame. After a while, when the night leaked into their room and drenching everything with a somber tone, the parents turned their back to each other. They curled up in bed, looking at an empty space and waited.
They waited for something. Anything.
Waited for sleep, waited for hope and waited for the pain to go away. But most importantly, they foolishly waited for Lincoln to barge through the door with that same, glowing smile of his. One that was only unique to his character. His warm laughter and gentle voice replacing the heavy, blue feeling like nothing ever happened.
Upstairs, the air was still. The Loud sisters went to their respected rooms. They were all alone, trapped in their own little world with their own afflicting hearts.
A rush of pure dread and sorrow ran through Lucy's body. She laid on her bed, still as a rock. The goth looked up at the ceiling and stared. A mysterious icy breeze brushed against her skin and the radiant glow of the moon seeped in through the bedroom window.
Lucy's room was illuminated and coated in a light blue, but she stayed focused on the ceiling. Her back melted and fused with the world. Her bones felt weak and her flesh felt gross. A massive pressure sat on her chest and her body felt numb.
Her eyes lingered through the scapes of the walls and frolicked around nothingness. Her limbs felt awkward and loaded. Lucy felt that her weak muscles weren't enough to lift her flimsy arms or legs, but her mind was simply playing tricks.
In an effortless moment, Lucy lifted her body and sat upright. Her nightgown felt loose and oversized. She was naked and open to the world. The cold had a better grasp on her as the chilly draft touched every inch of her body. Goosebumps wrapped around her pale skin and she shivered automatically.
Lucy looked to her side and saw Lynn, her back was towards Lucy and looked like a stubborn child. Lynn was sleeping, Lucy thought at first, but then argued. She's awake, Lucy assured herself. Who wouldn't be?
Lily, probably.
Hopelessness pierced her soul and, for a quick moment, she felt it. Not just a quick shock, but true pain and harm. Lincoln was gone.
After leaving the ceremony, the day felt normal, ordinary, natural. You know, just another typical day. So, where's Lincoln, she foolishly thought. Probably at home, sleeping or something. Maybe he was hanging out with his buddies? Or maybe he was in the city that he loved so much, doing whatever it was that he did.
Lucy remembered hoping on the car ride home that Lincoln was waiting in his room. She would walk in and he would instantly notice. He'd stop doing whatever it was that he'd be doing and give Lucy all his attention.
He always did.
They'd stare at each other for a minute, the room grew thick with a tight awkwardness. Lucy would do something unusual- poke him in the face, hug him, quote something from her books, or maybe just keep on staring- and then leave. That would've bugged Lincoln all day.
She always got a quick kick out of that. It brought a painfully smug smile to her face when Lincoln finally broke and followed her around, like an obedient puppy, constantly asking, "Whatdoyouwant? Whatdoyouwant? Whatdoyouwant?"
Then, with a stupid smile, Lucy would reply with, "Nothing." Lincoln would then look at her with an annoyed glance, his eyes narrowed and his lips flat. Then, Lincoln would reach out, squeeze Lucy's pale cheeks real quick and go back to whatever it was that he was doing. That always brought color to Lucy's face. Whenever Lucy was bored, that was the little routine she'd pull off. And it always made her happy.
But that was impossible now. Over and done.
Something damp touched her leg. She looked down at her thighs and noticed little drops of water. She brought a curious hand to her cheeks and felt the water run down the side of her face. What were those again? Tears?
She remembered crying only once in her entire life and it was all Lynn's doing. What do I do at a time like this? She forgot. This feeling was so foreign, so alien that she felt like screaming. This level of vulnerability was one that Lucy was not comfortable with.
"Call down and breath," she remembered Lisa saying. But that wasn't helping. All her sisters looked at her like she was dying, and she wanted to, but she was just crying. What of it? Everyone does it once in a while.
No, the reason was because Lucy was crying. They didn't know how the little goth would've reacted, so they tried to calm her down before any happened. But how do you calm down a calm person?
Lucy felt like an idiot. She didn't remember what she was fussing about, but it must've been trivial. Everyone does it. She'd consider herself beyond stoic if she didn't cry once in her lifetime, but she didn't see it happening so soon. What was it about again? Her life spiraling out of control? Her family suffering?
That must've been it.
All her sisters cried when they found out that most of their stuff had to be sold. They all had to get dumb jobs to keep the house up, but that was when the economy dropped to a hazardous low. But thanks to the World War, business picked up and things have been going back to normal. Logistically speaking, all turned out for the best for everyone, so why does the pain feel so unbearable?
She looked at Lynn one last time, making sure she was asleep. She still couldn't tell, but she didn't care.
She reached over to her night table with a swift hand. She leaned and grabbed something cold. She knew what she was doing. The cold steel in her palm stung a bit.
Lucy brought the tiny blade up to the light, it shined with a divine glow. She made sure the blade was up on the right side. She gripped her fist and a vain boldy presented itself. She put the blade between her finger and brought the blade down. She was merely inches away from her pale skin but she stopped herself.
Lucy battled with herself. She wanted to cut herself, nothing more. She just wanted a way for the pain to leave, but she couldn't let herself have that simple satisfaction. Her power and hate slowly trickled out of her body.
Come on, bring it down. It's not that hard. The cold steel burned her fingers. Her hand quivered above her wrist and the blue vain was taunting her. A little closer. A little closer. You can do it.
Her mind ran ahead of her. She imagined the quick relief of the razor smoothly running across her skin. A thin line at first, but then the blood would start oozing out. First with a speck of crimson, then with a river of blood.
The blood would bring color to her milky skin, then start dripping down to her arm. The color would still be visible as it seeped into her nightgown and her bed sheets.
She thought of it but… it was repulsive. A rancid taste of action on her part but that wasn't like her.
Her hands stopped shaking. Her balled fist loosened and her vain faded. Her shoulders fell and her muscles relaxed. It took a minute of self-reflection for her to feel like an idiot for the second time.
Her wrist fell and the blade made distance. She brought the blade to her face and looked with a hint of curiosity.
Why did she even think this was a good idea? She was a goth, talked about pain and hopelessness but she never meant any it. She was like a hero in a sense. Her ultimate fear would be her symbol. She talked about death and disparity with lightness because if she let her guard down once, then it'll hurt much more than the facade of owning up to it.
The blade sank into her wrist. With a quick slide, her skin parted. Her heart tightened and she caught her breath. She flinched. The blade fell from her grip and into the darkness. She desperately wrapped her hand around the wound. The cut hurt with an electric sting.
This being her first time, Lucy expected her blood to gush and run out of her body, but when she slowly loosened her grip and looked at her wrist, the cut was as thin as a paper. It was a scratch but her pride was the one thing that was truly wounded.
Lincoln invaded her mind. He wore a look of sadness, or was it pity? If Lincoln was here, he'd be screaming at her, bandages already in his hands. His words would be scornful and blunt. His voice would be high and mighty, trying to make himself sound angry. But Lucy would've smiled, her hand still grasping her sliced wrist, because, at that moment, she would've known he'd care.
And that'd make her happy.
But he wasn't here. So, for his sake, that was the first and last time she cut herself.
Luan was lying down on her side, her bed was absorbing and soothing her in a hug of warmth. Her arms were stretched out and her cheek pressed against the mattress. Her eyes were open but she could only see darkness. Her gaze was ghostly, seeing through everything. The dark approached from the corners of her eyes.
Her room was painfully quiet. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Her bloody rushed quickly and normally, but her chest ached. Her mind was lost and her joy was shattered.
Where am I? She thought. A nightmare? Yeah, that's it. This is a nightmare. Time to wake up.
But life couldn't be more real. She was awake and living in hell. She was feeling a swarm of emotions, but couldn't seem to show a single one. She was shocked more than anything.
This can't be happening.
Not to us, not to her. Her family went through their fair share of pain, but how in the hell was this fair. The Louds were strong, a united force that was unbreakable as long as they stayed together. They managed to walk through fire and still come out kicking. They were truly unstoppable.
But how were they supposed to get through this? Sit down in their living room and talk it out? Smile until it doesn't hurt anymore? Ignore everything and move on like nothing ever happened?
Everything constantly reminded Luan of her little brother. The bunk beds she slept on, the nightstand she didn't even like, the food they ate, the house they lived in.
Everything.
Because the Louds would've had nothing if it wasn't for him. She never knew where he was getting all that money, but she would've easily traded it all for Lincoln.
Just to see him for a minute. To hold and cherish him for a split second. She would bury her cheeks into his soft hair and get lost in his blissful smile. Her eyes would close and her heart would soar with peace as she pressed his warm face against her loving chest.
His arms would wrap around her back and crush her with a deadly hug. But she wouldn't mind, as long as he didn't let go.
In her cold bed, she sighed. She looked down and tried to trace the things in her room. Her mind went to Luna. Luan hoped that her sister was deep in sleep. She didn't want her older sister to feel this way too. A gnawing feeling eating away at her soul. Her stomach felt shallow and empty. Her body felt limp as if she wasn't even in control.
Everything felt pointless.
She wanted Lincoln. She imaged that everyone did.
Her heart flickered and her mind started. A clouded memory of Lincoln ran through her mind. He was young and frail, about five years of age. His face was bright and his eyes were huge.
Lincoln was running around in their backyard. He was shirtless but he wore a pair of green shorts. He ran around the sun, the grass tickling his feet. He was doing something. Something funny.
"Luan," he called out. His voice was faint and echoey. "Watch me."
Luan sat in the middle of the yard, watching him intently.
"I am." She said with a giggle. "I am." She repeated, quietly.
Her laughter was warm and contagious but only because it was mimicking Lincoln's. His prepubescent chuckles and yelps brought an autumn warmth to Luan's heart. At that moment, she felt like crying because that feeling and that memory never happened. It was fabricated by her poignant mind in an attempt to find relief somewhere.
Lincoln ran around in circles. He jumped and rolled in a meadow now. He was disappearing into the tall, golden grass as he ran further and further. He turned around and looked at Luan, waiting for her to follow.
Luan's heart skipped a beat. She tried to get up but couldn't. She looked down and her legs wouldn't move. She was planted firmly in place, her legs folded Indian style.
She looked back up at Lincoln with a worried expression. Her eyes were wide and her mouth fell. She was calling for help, but she couldn't talk.
Lincoln's head tilted sideways, like a curious puppy. He looked for a bit longer, making sure that Luan wasn't coming. He shrugged and continued his playful routine. He giggled, this time his laughter was mocking Luan.
"Watch me," he called out in the far distance. "Watch me, Luan," he said as his soul faded with a chuckle.
Luan tried to chase him but her body was chained to the ground. She helplessly watched as Lincoln disappeared into the tall grass.
Luan blinked. Her eyes felt cold as she pushed away… a dream?
She was crying. She shut her eyes tight, fighting back the tears. She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. She got up, the bed creaking loudly, and walked out of her room. She felt her back grow heavy, a gaze fell upon her. She couldn't tell if Luna saw her leave or not but it didn't matter. She looked down the corridor and marched to the closed door.
The carpet grew colder and she slowly approached the empty room. Her hand wrapped around the icy knob, turned it and opened his bedroom door. She knew his room like the back of his hand. So, she wasn't scared when she took a step into the darkness and closed the door behind her.
The two eldest sisters curled in their beds and made themselves as little as possible. Lori was broken, just like everyone else. There was no way she can act strong. Not now.
Leni was facing the wall, her nose almost touching the frosty paste. Surprisingly, the candles that light up the room were dwindled down and useless. Leni stretched her neck and turned. She looked at Lori, but she was facing away.
Lori was freighteningly quiet. Not making even the slightest bit of sound. Her sobbing was mute and her life was absent. Lori was just laying there, the moonlight running over her curves and bringing out her silhouette. Her hair was running down her shoulder and spreading across the bed like vines.
Leni looked at Lori for a while longer, making sure she was okay. She wasn't. Leni's hopes fell. She sighed and faced the wall again.
Dealing with sadness and grief was an unimaginable weight that she had to carry. She was usually carefree and joyful but how can she be that when Lincoln, the one thing that made her happy, was gone?
Her rosy cheeks were dry with tears but the heavy tears kept going and going, refreshing her puffy eyes and stale face. A ghostly weight was pressing her down, dragging her soul down to hell. All that was left of herself was an empty shell of fleeting emotions, the sorrow and pain were all that remained.
Her skin felt tight and her blood felt like stone. Her mind ached and her heart was torn. She didn't know what to do with this new feeling. The overwhelming misery and pain ran down her spine like ice. The light in her eyes faded and the white walls closed in on her. She was trapped, she needed Lori but she was gone. She needed Lincoln, but he was gone too.
It's been a long while since Leni's felt this way. Her first sorrow was one that was crafted without ostentation or design. Maybe she lost something? Maybe it was rowdy, stingy girls that picked on her? Or maybe it was the troubles that her family went through?
Whatever it was, she was scared. She felt alone as she plummeted into an abyss of endless darkness. Her dull thinking and stoic heart clouded her mind with idle actions. She just wanted to curl up and disappear. But she couldn't.
Leni couldn't simply disappear. She knew her family would be sad, the same way they feel sad for Lincoln.
Oh, how Leni desperately wanted to be by her brother's side, stroking his silky, white hair.
Leni could vaguely imagine herself and Lincoln standing in that cloudy, utopian city waiting for the rest of her family. They just needed to wait a bit, but Leni would find comfort in Lincoln's company alone. That'd be enough.
But even then, curled up in her bed, Leni knew he wouldn't want that.
Lincoln worried about his sister too much for his own good but for Leni the most. All the sisters were kind of cruel to Leni, but only because they wanted to toughen her up. Lincoln was the only one that was gentle to her. His tone was soft and harmless. His touch was nice and his cute smile always brightened up her day.
Leni whined. Fresh tears ran down her face again. Her lips painful curled.
Lincoln wouldn't want to see Leni like this: crippled, heartbroken, and bleak. No, that wasn't the Leni that Lincoln knew and loved. The Leni he knew was always joyful like no other. She was ecstatic and lively and contagious and… hopeful. She could put an angel to shame.
At that moment, she decided that her happiness outweighed everything else. So, she let her heart cry for a second and then tricked the sorrow.
Leni's lips curled again, painfully. She sobbed. Her noisy sniffles gave her feeling away. She was crying but with a dopey smile on her face. Her beautiful, joyful smile was all she needed to make Lincoln happy, she knew that much.
And if she could be just a little selfish, she'd make Lincoln wait for a bit longer. She hoped that wasn't too much to ask for.
Deep down, she knew it wasn't because when she made it to that heavenly paradise, her whole life fully lived and Lincoln eagerly waiting to hear it all, Lincoln would be proud.
That was roughly eleven years ago.
Now, here they are again. The Louds back at another gravesite. The sky was grey, boldly showing it's sorrow.
It turns out that Lincoln didn't die, the first time that is. It was a nice sunny day when the Louds were sadly informed, by a lean and tough man named Lieutenant Oz, that Lincoln was found dead. Rita was furious. She told the man to get the fuck of her property.
The man was dressed in his green, sharp uniform with ribbons sprayed on his chest. There was a nicely folded American flag in the Lieutenant's hands. He held it was care and guilt. Rita said that this was some kind of fucked up joke, but a tiny piece of her felt the truth behind it all. She just didn't want to see it.
She couldn't believe it, no one could really. Rita wanted to know what happened. Everyone wanted to know. The Lieutenant eagerly told the parents that Lincoln was serving in the military under a different name: Logan Loud.
When Lincoln was found dead, the military tried to inform his next of kin, but there was hardly any information on him. Lincoln had a different name, no home, and no family. It was until a random soldier from Michigan recognized Lincoln as 'the kid who died' from eleven years ago. One thing led to another and eventually, Lincoln Loud was easily connected to Logan Loud. Though, no one knows why he didn't change his last name. For happy memories, maybe?
The Lieutenant told the parents that Lincoln was found in France inside a church. Lincoln bled to death, that part he didn't say. Lincoln was fighting as a proud American soldier. The Lieutenant called Lincoln a brave, strong and honest soldier, one like no other, but that was a lie.
In actuality, Lincoln was a weak, lying coward. He faked his death, ran and spent eleven years away from his loving and grieving family.
And what did he do in the end? He went and died again.
The Louds mourned and sobbed. The Lieutenant and a couple men were a good distance away, their heads hung as they silently prayed.
Believe it or not, but Lincoln dying again was much harder than the first. Lynn sunk her sharp tooth into her lower lip as tears ran down her eyes. Lori was hiccuping and choking in between gasps of air. She kept sinking her nails into her palms.
Luna was broken. Her mind was shrouded in a cloud of confusion and despair. Her eyes were wide and her breath was steady and dangerously slow. Her attention was everywhere, except where it counted. She looked at her family, crying still. Then she turned to the gravestone. It was very much the same as before, but there was a different piece of detail. She noticed and it stung her heart.
Lori noticed it too. She was keeping her eyes on the gravestone because the sight of her brother made her sick. The gravestone read:
Lincoln C. Loud
(1922-1944)
Son, Brother, Friend.
Lori read it again and again and again. Son, Brother, Friend? Lori laughed on the inside. More like Idiot, Liar, Bastard.
Lori felt like she was the only one that was mad. And she was, rightfully so. Here Lincoln was, pulling everyone out of their ordinary lives and placing them back with a fresh grievance. It was extremely selfish and unimaginable, the empty days and hopelessness that the family had to go through, only to wind up back here. With that same emptiness and all that progress lost.
This time was a bit different though. There was an actual body in the casket. It was Lincoln. They had to believe that it was Lincoln in that casket and not some different man. But how could they?
Lincoln's face has changed so much over the years. He looked different. He was almost unrecognizable if it weren't for his white hair and buck teeth. His face was rough and chiseled. He was much taller and less boney. He grew up well, into a fine man.
Everyone did, actually. That's what eleven years does to a person. The parents were much more wrinkly and bent. The eldest five have already moved out and the rest were on their way.
The children were just like before. Lola and Lana crying together. Lucy and Lisa by themselves. But this time Lily was grabbing onto her mother's legs and burying her teary face into her mother's thighs, selfishly crying for the brother she never knew.
Lincoln would have loved Lily, all her sisters do. Maybe if Lincoln knew Lily like this, he wouldn't have let go so easily. He would've stayed and everything would have been different.
Lincoln could've seen Lily grow with his own eyes. But no, Lincoln threw his family aside. And for what? A prideful ambition? A meaningless dream?
At some point, Luna's legs grew heavy. She fell to the ground and whined. She placed a strong hand over her mouth, tears ran down and sunk into the cracks of her fingers. Luan kneeled down and tenderly rubbed Luna's back. She was trying to sooth Luna with shushes, but it wasn't helping. Leni was wailing like a child, crying and choking on her sobs.
All the Louds gently wept. The skies were grey, but there was no rain this time. No angelic tears for Lincoln Loud.
Not this time.