Her lips were dry and chapped, and her eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion, but she refused to leave her post. That night, nobody really slept. Some lingered on the front porch, their quiet conversations muffled by the night air.
Others would periodically walk back into the room to check on the situation. Sophie was still sitting by the casket, completely motionless. She looked utterly exhausted, but she wouldn’t lie down and she wouldn’t walk away.
The first hint of strangeness began around midnight. The room suddenly felt cold, even though all the windows were closed and the fireplace in the corner still had glowing embers. People started to shiver, pulling their sweaters tighter.
Uncle Jacob noticed it first and went to check the fireplace, but it was working just fine. “That’s odd,” he muttered to himself. “The fire’s going, but it’s freezing in here.”
Grandma Helen brought a wool blanket and gently draped it over Sophie’s shoulders. The girl gave a small nod of thanks but didn’t tear her gaze away. The blanket was warm and soft, smelling faintly of the lavender Grandma always kept in her linen closet.
After that, no one else insisted on trying to move her. It was as if they all sensed that something important was taking place, something that shouldn’t be interrupted. Time dragged on. Most of the guests started to get distracted.
Some stepped out onto the porch for a smoke in the cool night air. Others drifted to the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. Sophie’s mother, Sarah, sat in a corner chair, her head leaned back, her eyes finally closed in exhaustion. It was in this exact moment of quiet, when everyone’s attention had lapsed, that the unbelievable happened. Sophie slowly, as if in a trance, stood up from her chair.
Her movements were smooth, almost ritualistic. She placed one foot on the seat of the chair, then braced her knee on the padded edge of the casket. It all happened in slow motion, as if she had rehearsed this very act a hundred times in her young mind.
Nobody even noticed what she was doing until she was already inside. She lay down on top of her father, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Her small hands clasped around his neck, and she pressed her face against the shirt on his chest, right where his heart used to beat. One of her aunts turned, saw the scene, and let out a sharp cry, causing everyone to rush over to the casket.
The room erupted into chaos. People crowded around, pushing to see. Some were crying, others were shouting in disbelief.
At first, they thought she had fainted or perhaps was having a seizure. But when they got closer, they saw something that struck them all speechless. Andrew’s hand was resting on Sophie’s back, as if he were hugging her, too.
It wasn’t an accidental pose, not just the result of the girl’s weight shifting his arm. The hand was positioned exactly as a loving father’s hand would be, holding his daughter. The fingers were even slightly bent, as if he were gently comforting her.
Some people just froze, unable to process what they were seeing. Others started to argue that the girl must have moved his hand when she climbed in, but that just wasn’t right. The hand wasn’t in a forced position…
