14/04/2025
"Whispers in the Coffin"
The chapel was silent except for the soft patter of rain against the stained-glass windows. The scent of lilies filled the air, heavy and too sweet. In the center of the room stood a dark wooden coffin, polished to be shine. Inside it lay her father, still and peaceful, dressed in his Sunday best — the suit he had worn to her school recital.
Nine-year-old Mira clutched a small stuffed lion to her chest as she approached the coffin. Her steps were slow, her face streaked with tears. No one stopped her.
She leaned in close, trembling fingers brushing against his cold hand.
“Daddy,” she whispered, “I didn’t say goodbye right. I thought I’d have more time.”
The adults behind her wept silently, but none dared move. This was her moment.
“I won’t forget you. I promise I’ll look after Mom. And I’ll be brave. Like you taught me.”
She placed the lion beside him and curled up at the side of the casket, her forehead resting on the edge. A soft sob escaped her lips as she whispered, “Don’t go too far, okay?”
