As we left the grave, my son screamed, “Mom is cold! I felt her hand!” My sister hissed, “Stop this embarrassment, she’s gone,” trying to drag him away. I ignored her and grabbed a shovel. I dug until my hands bled. When the lid finally popped open, the crowd froze in horror. My wife’s eyes were wide open, and the desperate scratches on the inside of the lid revealed a truth that made the police arrest my sister instantly

Sir! You cannot!” Halloway shouted, signaling to two of his assistants.

“Back off!” Mark shouted, surprisingly stepping in front of the assistants. He looked at me, his eyes wide with horror, but he held his ground. “If he wants to look, let him look. Let him see she’s gone so he can end this madness.”

Halloway looked at the crowd, then at the menacing look in my eyes. He realized that physically stopping me would result in a brawl on top of a grave. He raised a hand to stop his staff.

“Fine,” Halloway spat, his professional mask slipping to reveal pure irritation. “Open it. But on your head be the psychological damage to that boy.”

I didn’t answer. I knelt beside the mahogany casket. The wood was cold and damp. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the metal latches.

Click. The first clasp undid.

Click. The second.

The silence in the cemetery was absolute. Even the wind seemed to die down. The birds stopped singing. It felt as if the entire universe was holding its breath, waiting for the verdict.

I looked at Noah. He nodded, a single, solemn motion.

I gripped the heavy lid. It felt like lead. It felt like the weight of the entire world.

I lifted.

The lid groaned on its hinges, a sound that seemed to tear through the fabric of the afternoon.

When the coffin was fully opened, the crowd froze. A collective intake of breath sucked the air out of the immediate vicinity.

My wife lay there, exactly as she had been placed by the morticians. Her hands were clasped over her chest, holding a single white rose. Her hair was fanned out on the satin pillow. She was pale—marble white. Her lips were tinted with a makeup that didn’t quite match her skin tone.

She looked peaceful. She looked still.

She looked dead.

I felt a wave of nausea so violent I nearly vomited. I had been wrong. Noah had been wrong. We had desecrated her rest for a hallucination born of grief. I gripped the edge of the coffin, my knuckles white, ready to collapse.

“Oh, Thomas…” Karen sobbed behind me. “Oh, God, close it.”

I went to lower the lid, shame burning my face like acid.

“No!” Noah yelled. He broke free from my side and ran to the coffin. He was too short to see inside properly, so he scrambled up onto the lowering device, grabbing his mother’s arm.