as if in response to the child’s words, a faint rustling sound emerged from the coffin. The guests gasped collectively, unsure if their minds were playing tricks on them in the heavy atmosphere of grief. The wife, who had been staring at the floor in a daze, snapped her head up with a mix of disbelief and hope crossing her face.
The priest paused, his voice trailing off into an uncertain silence as all eyes turned towards the coffin. The rustling grew louder, unmistakably emanating from within the confines of the polished wooden box. The funeral director, who had been standing discreetly at the back of the room, now moved forward with determination, his face a mask of professionalism mingled with confusion.
The little girl’s cries grew more insistent, her small fists beating gently on the wooden surface as she repeated, “Daddy, wake up! Daddy, wake up!” The mother, emboldened by her daughter’s conviction and the eerie sounds coming from the coffin, moved closer, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.
