Gasps rippled across the room. Emma’s knees buckled, and someone quickly moved to support her. But Lily wasn’t done.
She reached out and touched her father’s cheek. “He’s cold,” she whispered. Then she turned, eyes wide with something that wasn’t just grief — it was fear. “Mommy, he’s scared. He said, ‘I’m here. Please help.’ I heard him say it. He’s inside!”
The priest paused, his expression uncertain. Mourners exchanged glances. A few wept harder, believing it to be the tragic imagination of a heartbroken child. But then someone in the back — Daniel’s cousin, Jacob — stood up suddenly.
“Check his pulse,” he said firmly. “Please.”
The room fell deathly still. Emma, pale as the roses lining the casket, looked at the funeral director, who hesitated.
“I—I assure you, the body was—”
“Please,” Emma choked out. “Please just check.”
Reluctantly, the funeral director stepped forward. He leaned over the body and placed two fingers gently against Daniel’s wrist. He was about to shake his head when something shifted in his expression.
His hand flew to Daniel’s neck.
And then—
“I think… I think he has a pulse.”
A shocked murmur swelled through the crowd. Someone cried out.
