No one screamed now.

The whole chapel stood frozen as the hand gripped the edge of the broken coffin lid.

The man dropped to his knees.

“Emily?”

The maid grabbed the latch with shaking hands.

“Help me!”

For a moment, he couldn’t move.

Then he snapped back to life and pulled with her.

The lid opened just enough for a weak breath to escape.

The mourners gasped.

The woman inside was alive.

Barely.

Her eyes fluttered open under the bright chapel lights.

The man reached for her, sobbing.

“Emily, I’m here.”

But she flinched.

That small movement broke the room.

The maid noticed.

So did the man.

His hand stopped inches from her face.

Emily’s dry lips parted.

Her voice was almost nothing.

“Don’t let him touch me.”

The chapel went silent again.

The maid slowly turned toward the man.

His tears stopped.

His face changed.

Not to relief.

To fear.

Emily’s trembling fingers tightened around the maid’s glove.

And with the whole funeral watching, she whispered,

“He buried me before I could tell them the truth.”