The sorrowful wail of funeral trumpets echoed through the air, blending with the soft, steady rhythm of rain falling on the rusted tin roof.

In the center of the courtyard, a gold-painted coffin rested on two wooden chairs. Mourners crowded around it, each bowing their heads in grief for Elena — the kind-hearted daughter-in-law who had passed away due to complications during childbirth.

Elena was only 25. Since joining the family, she had treated her in-laws with love and respect, tending to them like her own parents.

Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Helen, had always said proudly, “A daughter-in-law like Lan is a blessing to any family.” But happiness was short-lived.

One fateful night, Elena had severe abdominal pain. She clutched her stomach, crying in agony.

By the time she was rushed to the hospital, she was already faint.

Before her baby could even let out a cry, Elena slipped away—never to wake up again.

Grief gripped the entire family. Mrs. Helen sobbed until she fainted.

Mr. Louis, her husband, sat silently. His gaze was hollow, fixed on the framed photo atop the coffin. Elena beamed in it, her eyes glowing with joy.

When the time came to move the coffin, eight young men stepped forward. They reached out to lift it onto the hearse. But no matter how they tried, the coffin wouldn’t budge.

Their faces turned red, hands trembling with effort—but it wouldn’t move. An elderly neighbor murmured, “She still has something weighing on her heart… she can’t go just yet.”

A shaman nearby spoke quietly:

“Open the coffin. She’s not finished speaking.”

Someone unlatched it. As the lid was gently lifted, gasps rippled through the mourners.

Tears streaked Elena’s face. Her eyes weren’t fully closed, and the corners of her lashes were still damp. It looked as if she had cried after death.

Mrs. Helen collapsed beside the coffin, clinging to her daughter-in-law’s cold hand, her voice shaking:

“Elena… please don’t cry anymore… If there’s something left unsaid, tell me, my dear… please…”

Silence fell like a curtain.

Then, a sudden sob broke through.

Everyone turned toward Louis—Elena’s husband—who had fallen to his knees, covering his face with his hands, crying uncontrollably. Shock spread across the yard. Mrs. Helen turned, barely able to speak:

“Louis… what are you saying… Did you hear her?”

He lifted his tear-soaked face, his voice barely audible:

“It was me… I caused her pain…”

The rain continued falling steadily as Louis choked on his words. His gaze never left Elena’s tear-stained face.

“That night… she discovered I was seeing someone else. She didn’t confront me. She just cried all night, clutching her belly. I promised I’d end it, but… the damage was already done. She was so shaken… That same night, she collapsed. I took her to the hospital, but it was too late. Elena… I’m sorry… I was wrong…”

Crying erupted across the yard. Mrs. Helen’s voice cracked through the downpour:

“Dear God… my child… Why did you have to suffer like this… My poor daughter-in-law… I failed you…”

Louis leaned his head against the side of the coffin, hands gripping the wood, voice trembling:

“Elena… I know I hurt you… I deserve your anger, your hatred. But please… forgive me. Let me carry you to your final rest…”

Then, the coffin trembled—just slightly.

The shaman nodded: “She’s let go.”

The eight men stepped forward again. This time, the coffin lifted effortlessly. The funeral trumpet cried out once more, bidding farewell to a woman who left far too soon. The mourners silently parted to let her pass.

Louis remained on his knees, rain mingling with tears, his heart heavy with guilt. He knew no apology, no sorrow, would ever be enough to erase what he had done.

And for the rest of his life, in every dream that came with guilt, he would see Elena’s tear-streaked face—reminding him that some wounds, no matter how deep the regret… would never fully heal.