Ryan stepped out of the car and paused at the church entrance, his stomach twisted into knots as he braced himself to say goodbye to his father. Bella, his shepherd mix, leapt from the back seat and darted toward the doors, barking with sudden, sharp insistence. He called her back with a firm voice, stroking her ears as he promised to return soon, but she whined and paced, unwilling to settle. He left her reluctantly, her anxious energy clinging to him as he stepped into the stillness of the sanctuary.
Inside, the air was thick with grief. He slid into the pew beside his mother, her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes fixed on the casket resting at the front of the aisle. His father, Arnold, had died suddenly—an aggressive infection, they said—and now there would be no burial, only cremation. As the final hymn began, Ryan stood with the others, the music barely reaching him through the fog in his mind. Then, a crashing interruption: Bella exploded through the doors, scattering flowers as she leapt onto the coffin, barking with fierce urgency. She stood guard, her body tense, her eyes locked on the sealed lid.
Continue reading on the next page…