As we left the grave, my son screamed, “Mom is cold! I felt her hand!” My sister hissed, “Stop this embarrassment, she’s gone,” trying to drag him away. I ignored her and grabbed a shovel. I dug until my hands bled. When the lid finally popped open, the crowd froze in horror. My wife’s eyes were wide open, and the desperate scratches on the inside of the lid revealed a truth that made the police arrest my sister instantly

“Sir! You cannot!” Halloway shouted, signaling to two of his assistants.

“Back off!” Mark shouted, surprisingly stepping in front of the assistants. He looked at me, his eyes wide with horror, but he held his ground. “If he wants to look, let him look. Let him see she’s gone so he can end this madness.”

Halloway looked at the crowd, then at the menacing look in my eyes. He realized that physically stopping me would result in a brawl on top of a grave. He raised a hand to stop his staff.

“Fine,” Halloway spat, his professional mask slipping to reveal pure irritation. “Open it. But on your head be the psychological damage to that boy.”

I didn’t answer. I knelt beside the mahogany casket. The wood was cold and damp. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the metal latches.