The daughter-in-law died during childbirth — eight men couldn’t lift the coffin, and when the mother-in-law begged for it to be opened…

The mournful sound of trumpets echoed through the streets, mingling with the gentle patter of rain on the old corrugated metal roof.

In the middle of the courtyard, a coffin painted gold rested on two wooden stools.

All around, grieving relatives gathered, heads bowed, weeping for Isela — the sweet young woman who had been lost to a premature birth.

She was only 25 years old.

From the day she married Luis, she had always been respectful, humble, and loving, taking care of Doña Simona and Don Rogelio as if they were her own parents.

Doña Simona often said with pride:
“Any family with a daughter-in-law like Isela is truly blessed.”

But barely a year after the wedding, misfortune struck.

That night, Isela clutched her belly in unbearable pain, crying uncontrollably. When she was finally taken to the hospital, it was already too late.

The baby never uttered its first cry.
And Isela… passed away forever.

The entire family was devastated.

Doña Simona fainted several times, screaming in agony.
Don Rogelio sat silently, his gaze empty, staring at the photo on the coffin: Isela smiling, her eyes shining with happiness.

When it came time to carry the coffin, eight strong young men stepped forward, ready to lift it to the hearse.

But strangely… despite all their efforts, the coffin didn’t budge an inch.
Their faces turned red, veins bulged, muscles trembled… yet it was as if the coffin were glued to the ground.

An old man in the crowd sighed:
“She must still have sorrow… she’s not ready to leave.”

The priest, in a low voice, murmured:
“Open the coffin. She still has something to say.”

Hesitant, they released the latch.

When the lid was lifted, everyone froze.

On Isela’s face, two streaks of tears were still visible. Her eyes were gently closed, but her damp lashes betrayed that she had cried.

Doña Simona fell to her knees beside the coffin, holding her daughter-in-law’s cold hand:

“Isela… my dear child… stop crying… if you still have something to say, tell me… please…”

A heavy silence fell over the assembly.

Suddenly, a strangled sob echoed.

Everyone turned to Luis.

He was on his knees, face buried in his hands, crying uncontrollably.

The guests remained frozen. Doña Simona turned to him, her voice breaking:
“Luis… what’s happening? Did she speak to you?”

He lifted his head. His face streamed with tears, his eyes bloodshot. His voice, hoarse and broken, said…

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A sob broke out: Luis, on his knees, whispered:

— It’s my fault… I made her suffer…

He admitted that before that night, Isela had discovered the existence of another woman. She hadn’t screamed, just cried while caressing her belly.

He had promised to end it, but she was already broken. She lost consciousness that night… and it was too late.

— Forgive me… I beg you…

Tears spread through the crowd. Simona whispered:

— Why did you have to suffer so much?

Luis, shaking with sobs, leaned over the coffin:

— Hate me if you must… but let me accompany you one last time…

The coffin began to tremble slightly. The priest spoke:

— She let him go.

The pallbearers resumed, and the coffin seemed lighter. The trumpets sounded again as the procession moved away.

Luis remained kneeling in the rain, consumed by a remorse that would never fade. Until the end of his life, he would see in his dreams Isela’s face, her sad eyes a reminder that some wounds cannot be healed with a simple “forgiveness.”