**Here is a long, complete version of your story:**
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They were seconds away from cremating my pregnant wife when I begged, “Open the coffin… just once.”
The words felt like they belonged to someone else. My voice cracked in the sweltering heat of the crematorium chapel. Everyone turned to stare at me like I had lost my mind. My mother-in-law, Helena Vale, clutched her black lace handkerchief with perfectly manicured fingers. My brother-in-law, Marcus, checked his Rolex for the third time in five minutes. Even Dr. Crane, the family physician who had signed the death certificate, looked at me with something between pity and panic.
But I didn’t care.
Because something had just moved beneath the white fabric of Clara’s dress.
Helena’s face drained of color. Marcus’s jaw tightened so hard I heard his teeth grind.
“Close it now,” he snapped at the crematorium workers.
But it was already too late.
I had seen it.
