I stood beside her coffin, trying to stay strong as my hands trembled, knowing our unborn child rested within her—when a sudden movement from her belly shattered the silence, turning grief into shock as cries for doctors erupted around me.

“Did you… did you see that?” I asked, my voice cracking, barely recognizable even to myself.

No one answered at first.

Then someone gasped.

Another voice, sharper, louder, cut through the room: “Get the doctors—NOW!”

Everything shattered after that.

Chairs scraped violently against the floor. Someone knocked over a vase. Lena’s mother screamed—a raw, broken sound that didn’t even sound like language anymore. The funeral director staggered back, repeating under his breath, “This isn’t possible… this isn’t…”

But I didn’t move away.

I couldn’t.

I reached out, my hand shaking as I grabbed Lena’s wrist. Her skin was cool—but not cold.

That detail hit me like a shock.