The moment we arrived at the funeral, Bella—my dad’s loyal dog—started acting strange. Normally she’d wait quietly in the car, but this time she pulled and whined until I let her inside. As soon as we stepped into the room, she bolted toward the casket and barked like she was warning us of danger. Everyone stared, whispering, but nothing I did calmed her down. Bella wasn’t just upset… she was terrified. And that terrified me.
Trusting her instincts, I walked to the casket, my heart pounding. Something in her eyes told me I had to look. When I slowly lifted the lid, gasps echoed through the room—my mom collapsed on the floor—and my stomach dropped. The coffin was completely empty. Not a note. Not a clue. Nothing. I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and called the police immediately… because whatever happened to my father, it hadn’t ended in that hospital bed. And Bella had known it all along.
