Chapter 1: The Movement in the Coffin
The air in the crematorium was thick, smelling of ozone and the suffocating perfume of lilies. My wife, Clara, lay inside the polished mahogany coffin, seven months pregnant with our first child, while the Vale family moved with terrifying efficiency to erase her before sunset.
No one cried properly. No one trembled. Helena Vale dabbed at dry eyes with a silk handkerchief. Marcus stood near the furnace doors, checking his watch as if grief had an appointment slot.
Dr. Crane hovered beside them, pale and silent.
I stepped toward the coffin. The moment my hand reached for the latch, every face in the room turned toward me. Their gaze hit like a physical blow.
Then I saw it.
A subtle ripple beneath Clara’s white maternity dress. Small. Rhythmic. Impossible.
The baby had moved… Continue Reading ⬇️