CHAPTER 1: THE SON WHO ARRIVED TOO LATE
“Dad! Dad!”
Ethan Blackwood burst into the funeral home with his shirt untucked, tears streaming down his face as he pushed through the crowd.
The air smelled of white roses and melting candles.
Rows of mourners sat in solemn silence beneath soft golden lights.
At the center of the room rested a polished mahogany coffin.
Closed.
Still.
Final.
Ethan stumbled toward it, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe.
“I just want to see my father one last time.”
Before his hand could reach the coffin, someone stepped in front of him.
Vivian Blackwood.
His father’s young wife.
She wore an elegant black dress.
Her makeup was flawless.
And unlike everyone else in the room, her eyes were completely dry.
She placed a cold hand on Ethan’s shoulder and pulled him back.
“No,” she said calmly.
“You can’t.”
Ethan stared at her in disbelief.
“What do you mean I can’t?”
Vivian’s expression never changed.
“It cannot be opened.”
A murmur spread through the room.
Guests exchanged confused glances.
“But he’s my father,” Ethan pleaded.
“Please... I need to say goodbye.”
Vivian leaned closer.
“Your father had a disease.”
The room instantly became uneasy.
Ethan frowned.
“What disease?”
“A very contagious disease.”
Several mourners stepped backward.
Others covered their mouths.
The explanation sounded reasonable.
But Ethan knew something nobody else did.
His father had called him less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Alive.
Terrified.
And desperate.
The memory echoed inside Ethan’s head.
“Come home, son,” his father had whispered on the phone.
“Something is wrong.”
Then the line had gone dead.
Ethan slowly looked at the coffin.
His heart began racing.
Because his father never mentioned being sick.
Not once.
And suddenly, Vivian's story no longer made sense.
Then a strange feeling crawled up Ethan’s spine.
Something about this funeral felt wrong.
Very wrong.