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The mournful sound of the funeral trumpets filled the air, their deep notes echoing in the heavy rain as it fell against the old, corrugated iron roof. The sorrow of the day seemed to hang in the very atmosphere, thickening with each passing moment. In the center of the yard stood a coffin, painted with gold accents, resting on two wooden stools. Around it, a sea of mourners gathered, their heads bowed in grief for the young woman who had tragically passed away after a premature birth.
She was only 25.
Elena, a beloved daughter-in-law, had always been kind, considerate, and devoted. Since joining the family, she had treated her in-laws as her own parents, with a care and respect that won the admiration of everyone around her. Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Helen, often spoke with pride of Elena, saying, “Any family that has a daughter-in-law like Lan is truly blessed.” Yet, despite the joy she brought to the family, calamity struck after barely a year of marriage.
One night, Elena was overcome with excruciating abdominal pain. She cried out, clutching her stomach, and by the time they rushed her to the hospital, it was already too late. The birth came, but the baby never cried. Elena, despite every attempt to save her, slipped into unconsciousness and never woke up. The baby was gone before it even had a chance to breathe, and Elena followed soon after.
The grief that followed was immeasurable. Mrs. Helen, devastated, fainted repeatedly from the shock, while Mr. Louis, her husband, sat motionless, staring at a photo of Elena smiling brightly from atop the coffin. His face was pale, his eyes vacant, as though the life had been drained from him.
As it came time to move the coffin, eight strong men gathered to lift it. They placed their hands on either side, but despite their combined efforts, the casket wouldn't budge. It was as if it had become an immovable weight, stuck to the earth itself. Faces flushed with exertion, their muscles straining, but the coffin remained firmly in place. One of the older villagers, whispering in disbelief, said, “She must still have something left unresolved. She can’t leave yet.”
A monk, standing nearby, suggested quietly, “Open the coffin. She might still have something to say.”
The air grew thick with anticipation. Slowly, the men unlatched the lid. The crowd held its breath.
A collective gasp filled the air.
On Elena’s face, two dried streaks of tears were visible, as if they had just been wiped away. Though her eyelids were closed, her long lashes remained damp, a subtle trace of sorrow still clinging to her. The mourners stood frozen, unable to comprehend what they were seeing. Mrs. Helen collapsed beside the coffin, clutching her daughter-in-law’s cold, lifeless hand as her voice trembled. “Elena... Please, don’t cry anymore. If you have something left unsaid, please... tell me. I beg you.”
The yard was completely silent, save for the soft, persistent patter of the rain. Then, out of the stillness, came a sound that no one expected—a heart-wrenching sob.
It was Louis.
Falling to his knees, his face hidden in his hands, he wept uncontrollably. His body trembled with each sob, and his cries filled the air, raw and filled with guilt. Everyone turned in shock. Mrs. Helen’s voice cracked as she asked, “Son... what is it? What is she saying to you?”
Louis, still wracked with sobs, lifted his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression a mix of agony and regret. With a broken voice, he whispered, “I am to blame... I forced her to leave us in agony.”
A wave of silence washed over the crowd. The only sound that could be heard was the steady beat of the rain, its rhythm almost too calm against the chaos of the moment.
Louis continued, his voice shaking with guilt. “The day she found out about me... about the other woman... She didn’t say anything. She just cried all night. I broke my promise. I promised her I would end it, but I didn’t. And that night, she was in so much pain... I got her to the hospital, but it was too late. I never meant for this to happen. I was wrong, Elena. I’m so sorry... I was a fool...”
His words were like a dagger, cutting through the grief and leaving a deep, painful silence. Mrs. Helen’s voice trembled, barely audible over the rain, as she whispered, “Oh my God... my child, why did you have to go through this? Elena... I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”
Louis leaned over the coffin, his trembling hands gripping the edge of the wooden casket. His voice was choked, his heart clearly breaking. “Elena, please forgive me... I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You have every right to hate me, to resent me... but I beg you, please... let me be with you. Let me walk with you to the place where you will rest.”
Suddenly, the casket seemed to tremble slightly.
The monk nodded solemnly and spoke in a low voice, “She has let go.”
At that moment, the eight men who had tried to lift the coffin earlier stepped forward again, their hands gently taking hold. This time, the casket lifted easily, as if Elena’s spirit had finally found peace.
The melancholy sound of the funeral trumpet filled the air again as the coffin was carried away. The mourners, heads bowed, followed in silence, each person lost in their own thoughts, each person carrying their own sorrow.
Louis, however, remained kneeling in the yard, his tears mingling with the rain as they soaked the cold earth beneath him. Every apology, every tear, reverberated painfully in his heart. No matter how much he regretted, no matter how many times he apologized, he knew he could never undo the damage he had done.
And as he stood, watching the procession fade into the distance, the haunting image of Elena’s crying face would remain with him, forever etched into his memory. It was as if her final tears were a reminder that some wounds, no matter how many apologies or how much grief we endure, can never be fully healed.
The story of Elena’s tragic death, her unspoken grief, and the mistakes of her husband would haunt the family forever, a reminder that some actions, once taken, leave scars that time can never erase. And for Louis, those scars would torment him in restless nights, replaying the image of his beloved Elena—her sorrowful, tear-streaked face, a face he could never forget.