I couldn’t.
I had stayed because I needed one last goodbye. But when I carefully raised the lid, Chloe’s eyelids moved. I touched her cheek. I watched her chest. I felt a weak breath against my hand.
She was alive.
Her face was pale and hot with fever. Her lips trembled beneath the soft light from the living room, and then I realized something even worse: Chloe had been secured inside the casket in a way that kept her from moving freely.
“Grandma,” she whispered. “I was good. I stayed quiet.”
My hands started shaking so badly I could barely work. I tried to free her, but whatever had been done to keep her in place would not release at first. That was when the truth became impossible to avoid. This was not some terrible mistake at a funeral home. Someone knew Chloe was alive when she was placed there.
I forced myself to stop pulling and search instead. Beneath the padded lining, my fingers brushed something hard and cold. I reached deeper and found a small metal key hidden under the fabric.
