Leon's expression froze for a split second before twisting into a sneer.
"Rose, I'm realizing now that you aren't just crazy—you're committed to the bit."
He glared at the white silk drapes and the small coffin, his eyes filled with skepticism. "Putting on such a show. Fine. I want to see exactly what you're burying in there."
He started toward the coffin.
I couldn't let him disturb my son's final rest. Ignoring the tearing pain in my side, I clawed my way across the floor to block his path.
"Get out! Don't you dare touch David with your dirty hands!"
Seeing me block him, Leon's temper snapped. His boot connected hard with my ribs.
I was thrown aside like a rag doll, skidding several yards. Blood from a cut on my forehead dripped down, staining the pristine white silk crimson.
The next second, with a loud *bang*, Leon shoved the coffin lid aside.
Silence descended.
Leon stood paralyzed. For the first time, the arrogance shattered, replaced by pure shock.
Our son's eyes were tightly closed. His once-rosy face was the color of bruised marble—pale, blue, and purple. His body was a map of agony, raw flesh and charred skin. The chemical sting of formalin burned in the air.
"No... this is impossible." Leon's voice trembled, cracking under the weight of reality. He had never imagined the injuries were this severe.
"It's a prank, right? You two are playing a trick on me." He reached in, shaking the small shoulders. "Get up, David. Okay, you got me. Dad is scared. That's enough now..."
He pushed David, calling his name, begging for a reaction.
But the rigid, icy stillness under his fingertips told him the truth. The boy in front of him was meat and bone, void of life.
"No... no... David—"
Leon staggered back, his legs giving out. He hit the floor hard, his voice ragged with horror. "This isn't real... how could it be like this? My David..."
Watching him, I felt no vindication. No pleasure of revenge.
Only a vast, hollow ache.
I pulled myself up and walked slowly to the coffin, my voice numb.
"Do you believe me now, Leon?"
I looked down at the small, still face. "For days, whenever I close my eyes, I see him in pain. He cried and told me, *'Mom, it hurts so much.'* He asked why his Daddy didn't come to save him."
The thought that my son would never smile at me, never hug me, never whine for a toy again, broke me anew. My tears pattered against the wood of the coffin.