The lead mourner dropped to his knees beside her.
Together they ripped the broken lid back.

Inside, the woman lay pale and still in her white dress—but her chest moved.

Barely.

A thin, desperate breath.

One of the women in black screamed and burst into tears. Another nearly collapsed against the wall. The second man in the dark suit stumbled backward, shaking his head like his mind refused to believe what his eyes were seeing.

“She’s alive,” the maid sobbed. “She’s alive.”

The woman’s fingers twitched again.

Her lips parted.

A weak breath slipped out.

The lead mourner’s face broke completely. “Call an ambulance!” he shouted, his voice cracking as he reached into the coffin with trembling hands.

The maid took the woman’s cold hand and held it against her own cheek. “I knew it,” she whispered through tears. “I knew I heard you.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered.

Not open all the way.

Just enough.

The room froze all over again.

The woman looked confused, trapped between death and waking, and her mouth moved once before a fragile sound came out.

“Help…”

The lead mourner let out a broken gasp and covered his mouth with one shaking hand. One of the grieving women dropped to the floor crying.

The maid leaned closer, crying harder now. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

The woman’s eyes shifted weakly toward the crowd, then back to the maid. Her lips trembled.

And just before the sirens outside began to rise, she whispered the words that turned every face in the room to ice:

“They tried… to bury me.”