The latch clicked open. The lid creaked slowly as it was lifted.
Gasps filled the air.
Elena’s face was still, yet eerily lifelike. Her eyes were half-closed, her long lashes damp—as if she had just cried. Two glistening tear tracks streaked down her pale cheeks. In death, she wept.
Helen dropped to her knees beside the coffin, grabbing Elena’s cold hand with both of hers. Her sobs wracked her frame.
“My child… my sweet Elena,” she whispered. “Why are you crying? What burden do you carry that followed you even into death? If there’s anything left unsaid, please… let us know. I beg you…”
The yard fell into a stunned silence. Even the rain seemed to hold its breath.
