The Funeral He Was Never Told About
Chapter 01 - The Funeral He Was Never Told About
Ethan Cole had imagined a hundred versions of his homecoming from the United Arab Emirates. In every one of them, Grace was waiting at the front door with one hand resting on her nine-month belly and the other raised in mock anger because he had missed another prenatal appointment. He had even bought a tiny gold bracelet for their unborn daughter and hidden it inside his travel bag.
None of those versions included black cars lining the driveway.
The moment Ethan stepped out of the taxi, the laughter he had carried across two airports vanished. White lilies covered the entrance to Blackwood Manor. People in dark clothing moved through the open doors with lowered heads. A framed photograph of Grace stood beside the staircase, wrapped in a black ribbon.
His suitcase fell from his hand.
“No,” he whispered.
His mother, Eleanor, hurried toward him, her face pale. “Ethan, you weren’t supposed to arrive until Friday.”
“Where is Grace?”
Eleanor’s silence answered before her lips did.
The drawing room had been transformed into a private chapel. At its center rested a polished wooden coffin. Grace lay inside wearing the white dress she had chosen for their anniversary dinner. Her hands were folded above the curve of her belly, and a thin veil softened her face.
Ethan pushed past relatives, neighbors, and a priest. Victor Cole—his cousin, business partner, and oldest friend—caught his arm.
“You shouldn’t see her like this.”
Ethan tore free. “What happened?”
“A sudden cardiac event,” Victor said. “Dr. Vale did everything he could.”
“Why didn’t anyone call me?”
“We tried,” Eleanor said. “You were in transit. Grace collapsed two nights ago. The doctor said there was no hope.”
Ethan stared at the woman he had spoken to only three days earlier. Grace had sounded frightened during that call, but she had refused to explain. She had only said, “Come home as soon as you can. I found something.”
Now the room seemed to tilt around him. He reached into the coffin and touched her fingers. They were cool, but not as cold as he expected.
Then the fabric over her belly moved.
It was small—barely more than a ripple.
Ethan stopped breathing.
Victor leaned close. “Grief can make the mind see things.”
The fabric moved again, this time with a clear, sudden rise beneath Grace’s folded hands.
May you like
Ethan looked up, his eyes burning with certainty.
“That wasn’t grief,” he said. “That was my daughter.”
