The dull sound of funeral trumpets echoed through the narrow alleys, mingling with the light rain falling on a rusted corrugated iron roof.
In the center of the courtyard lay a golden coffin, resting on two wooden benches.
Funeral attendees filled the square, all with bowed heads, mourning Isela—the sweet and loving daughter-in-law who died during childbirth.
Isela was only 25 years old. From the moment she entered the Ramírez family, she had devoted herself to her in-laws as if they were her own parents.
Her mother-in-law, Doña Carmen Ramírez, proudly repeated: „A home with a daughter-in-law like Isela is a blessed home.” But just a year after their wedding, tragedy struck.
That fateful night, Isela was in pain, clutching her swollen belly and crying in despair.
When she was finally taken to the hospital, it was already too late. The baby hadn’t uttered his first cry. And Isela… never opened her eyes again.
The family was devastated. Carmen fell to the ground in pain, screaming helplessly. Her husband, Don Rogelio, remained motionless, staring at Isela’s photograph on the coffin.
In the photo, Isela smiled radiantly, her eyes full of life.
When the time came to lift the coffin, eight strong young men approached to carry her toward the hearse. But something was wrong.
Despite their strength, the coffin didn’t move an inch. They tried, they groaned, they tensed their muscles—but the coffin seemed stuck to the ground, as if something invisible were holding it still.
An elderly woman among those present murmured:
„She’s not gone yet… She’s not ready to go.”
The priest, conducting the ceremony, spoke softly:
„Open the coffin. She still has something to say.”
With shaking hands, the family unlocked the lock. When the lid was lifted, a whisper rippled through the crowd.
Isela’s face, though calm, still bore traces of tears. Her eyes were closed, but her moist lashes testified to the pain… even after death.
Carmen cried out and fell beside the coffin, grasping her daughter-in-law’s cold hand.
„Isela… my daughter… don’t cry anymore… If there’s anything left unsaid, let us know… Forgive us, my daughter…”
Silence fell over the courtyard. Suddenly, a stifled sob filled the air.
Everyone looked at Luis, Isela’s husband. He was kneeling, his face buried in his hands, weeping ceaselessly.
Carmen turned to him, worried, her voice trembling:
„Luis… what’s happening? Did you hear her?”
Luis raised his head, wet with tears and rain. His voice was barely a broken whisper:
„It’s my fault… I… allowed her to suffer…”
The courtyard remained still. The rain intensified, but no one moved. Luis looked at his wife’s tear-filled face and whispered, devastated:
„That night… she found out about another woman. She didn’t scream, she didn’t fight back. She just sat there, crying… and all night she clutched her belly.
I swore I’d stop it… that it meant nothing… But she was already so hurt. That night she lost consciousness… I took her to the hospital, but… it was too late…”
„Sorry… Isela… I’m so sorry…”
Those present burst into tears. Carmen trembled as she said:
„My daughter… why did you have to suffer so much…? Forgive us if we didn’t protect you…”
Luis bent over the coffin, gripping the wooden edge, trembling all over:
„Isela… I know I’ve disappointed you… Hate me if you must. Curse me. But please… forgive me… Let me accompany you to rest…”
Then the coffin moved slightly—a gentle tremor. The priest nodded gravely:
„She let go.”
The coffin was lifted again. This time, as if that invisible weight had disappeared, they lifted it effortlessly.
The funeral trumpets sounded again, their wailing piercing the rain as the funeral procession began.
Luis remained kneeling on the cold, wet slabs, his tears mingling with the pouring rain. In his chest, the echo of infinite remorse resonated.
Neither forgiveness nor tears could erase what had happened.
And for the rest of his life, in every dream, in every silent moment, the image of Isela—with her sad eyes—would haunt him, reminding him that some wounds can’t be healed with a simple „sorry.”