They are doing very well, considering.
She repeats this a thousand times, including every night to Angeline. She's researched this (she's had to prepare for every situation, of course) and knows that parents who lose a child need to focus on their living offspring in order to remain sane. She has the same answer every time, rehearsed, careful.
Myles and Beckett are probably indeed doing well, considering, but the twins are so impossibly different that it's hard to say which one will require what kind of therapy later on. Myles sits for hours obsessively in Artemis' old study, says he's just waiting for his intellect to catch up so he can take over the projects Artemis never got to finish. He will, too. Beckett, on the other hand, alternates between staring at family photos and wailing pitifully, or just going about his business, asserting that Artemis is "happy now, someplace else" to a suspicious Myles.
Juliet doesn't cry for a lost childhood, as Artemis never had one. After Butler told her what actually happened (they still let the Fowls know Artemis made a sacrifice but the story is modified, of course, particularly the part about their sons' bodies being stolen) she thinks about all the times they'd nearly died, and cries at the irony of Artemis' final noble act. It was the one time he hadn't been self-preservative.
At the funeral, she's the one who does most of the guest receiving: his parents are too distraught, obviously, and Butler is nowhere to be found.
They have a traditional Irish home wake, and the only person Juliet even recognizes is Minerva, who is now a young woman, of course. It had been ages.
Juliet doesn't remember the age of consent in Ireland, because it had never been an issue for her, but she hopes it's sixteen, otherwise she'd feel creepy giving Minerva a second and third glance.
She hopes even more fervently after Minerva fucks Juliet in a spare bedroom.
"Grief is a natural aphrodisiac," Minerva explains calmly, but this makes Juliet feel worse. Like she didn't know that already. Like it matters.
She finds Dom in the dojo, later, tries to talk to him. She's been trying to talk to him for days now, and he hasn't said a word, except, "Artemis is not dead."
Well, of course he'd say that at first. But she knows the denial will fade.
When it doesn't, Angeline tries to confront Domovi, tells him it's healthier to grieve together, that they should process this, that they'll pay for Butler to See Someone.
When that doesn't work, Juliet starts looking up retirement "communities", which is a euphemism for specialized institutions where they place bodyguards who have lost a Principle (of natural causes, of course. The ones who let a principle die kill themselves out of honor.) Fear clenches in her stomach, icy and sharp. She can't lose her brother to this. He's supposed to protect them.
And that's why, when Artemis comes back, her first thought is not relief for the kids she loves, for the family she respects, or even for the brother she thought was crazy.
The first thing she feels is rage. She's furious with Butler, with Artemis, with herself for not believing. If there was a God, he would not take a life only to return it.
After all, someday Artemis will die again, and Juliet swears she won't be alive to see it.