Page 1

The trio looked out of place at my father’s funeral.

The older woman’s eyes were covered by her black hat, and she dabbed her eyes with a tissue every so often.

The younger ones must be her daughters, one had creamy coffee coloured skin, and the child was lighter.

The older one had fetching long dark hair.

When the wind blew, it caught some of the curls, irritating the young woman until she brushed her hair back.

I didn't know who they were, but they made me uncomfortable, stood there grieving for my father, and I had no knowledge of them. I turned to ask my mother but she was busy speaking to her family members.

My father’s solicitor waved his hand and bustled toward me.

He was in his sixties like my father. I glanced at the grave but the coffin was covered in soil.

He hadn't specified if he wanted to be buried in Greece or not but my mother insisted on burying him in our family’s cemetery.

The skies turned grey and foreboding. When I glanced toward the ladies again, they were gone.

“Stefanos, I must speak to you,” Mr Hassall said.

“Not now, Mr Hassall, I’m in no mood,” I said sharply.

“Mr Karalis, there is no other time for what I have to tell you,” he said moving to block my path.

Something wasn't right, I could feel it in my gut, and his words didn't help alleviate my concerns.

“Follow me,” I said and walked to my car.

My mother had family and friends surrounding her. Not wanting to disturb her, I sent her a message of my whereabouts as my driver opened the door for me. I sat in the car and waited for Mr Hassall to get in, impatient to get this over with.

I couldn't process the death of my father for being weighed down with never-ending responsibilities. The man had been a beacon to me, someone I wanted to emulate. Now, on the day of his funeral, I was still being hounded.

Little did I know, in a few minutes, Mr Hassall would inform me of some critical information about the life my father led .