Max looked up at him, then returned his gaze to the bottom of the coffin.
Rebecca was already crying, unable to bear another second of this drawn-out grief. But then—
Max let out one soft bark.
Then another.
Then a low, insistent whimper.
“I think we need to open it,” said Daniel, his voice breaking.
Gasps rippled through the church.
“You want to open your daughter’s coffin?” a family friend asked gently.
“I… I don’t know,” Daniel whispered. “But Max… Max wouldn’t act like this for no reason. Lily trained him herself. He’s never behaved like this.”
Rebecca looked at her husband, her hands trembling. “We have to know.”
A few people tried to protest—suggesting they wait until after the service, or that perhaps Max was simply grieving. But something in Daniel’s eyes stopped them.
He and the pastor carefully removed the floral arrangement, unlatched the lid, and slowly lifted the cover.
The entire room leaned forward.
Then someone screamed.
But not because of what was in the coffin.
Because of what was not.
Lily was gone.
The coffin was empty—save for her favorite pink blanket and a single drawing.
The air seemed to disappear from the room. People looked around wildly. Panic set in.
Max let out another bark and darted toward the rear exit of the church, pushing the door open with his snout. He turned back, as if to say, Follow me!
Daniel and Rebecca exchanged one stunned look and ran after him.
