Chapter 3 : A Stranger in a Coffin

The rain began just as they arrived.

Thin droplets slid down the windows of Gabriel's car as he pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home. The sky above Guadalajara was a dull shade of grey, and the streets glistened beneath the fading afternoon light.

For several moments, nobody moved.

Daniel sat in the passenger seat, staring through the windshield while Mateo scrolled absently through his phone. In the car behind them, Lucía waited alone.

The silence felt strange.

Not uncomfortable.

It's just unfamiliar.

Perhaps because none of them knew how they were supposed to behave.

Children were expected to grieve when their mother died.

Yet grief required memories.

And memories were something the Castillo siblings seemed to possess less and less of with every passing year.

Gabriel finally switched off the engine.

"We should go in."

Neither brother argued.

The four siblings crossed the parking lot together, their shoes splashing through shallow puddles as rain tapped softly against their umbrellas.

The funeral home stood quietly at the end of the street.

No reporters waited outside.

No cameras.

No curious onlookers.

It's just a simple building decorated with white flowers.

As Gabriel climbed the steps, he found himself remembering his father's funeral.

The crowd had stretched far beyond the church gates.

Politicians, journalists, businessmen, supporters.

Hundreds of people had come to pay their respects.

His father's death had dominated headlines for weeks.

His mother's death had barely warranted a phone call.

The thought lingered unpleasantly in his mind.

Inside, the funeral home smelled faintly of lilies and candle wax.

A woman dressed in black greeted them politely before leading them through a quiet hallway.

The sound of their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor.

Nobody spoke.

Gabriel wasn't sure whether they were afraid of disturbing the silence or afraid of what awaited them at the end of the corridor.

The viewing room stood partially open.

Warm light spilt through the doorway.

The woman stepped aside.

"You may enter whenever you're ready."

Then she left.

For several seconds, the siblings remained where they were.

Mateo folded his arms.

Daniel looked at the floor.

Lucía stared at the doorway.

Nobody seemed eager to be first.

Finally, Gabriel pushed the door open.

The room was larger than he expected.

Rows of chairs faced a wooden casket surrounded by white roses. Candles flickered quietly around the room, their flames casting faint shadows against the walls.

Near the front stood a large photograph.

Gabriel froze.

It was a picture of Sofia.

A younger Sofia.

One he had never seen before.

She couldn't have been more than twenty-five.

She was smiling.

Not the polite smile people wore for cameras.

Not the forced smile politicians practised.

A genuine smile.

The kind that reached her eyes.

Gabriel stared at it longer than he intended.

Something about it felt wrong.

Not because the photograph itself was strange.

But because he had never imagined his mother looking happy.

Every image he carried of her came from newspapers.

Courtrooms.

Prison records.

Mugshots.

He had never once considered that she had once been young.

That she had once laughed.

That she had once been loved.

Lucía moved first.

Slowly, she approached the casket.

The others followed.

Gabriel wasn't prepared for what he saw.

The woman lying inside looked nothing like the monster he had spent twenty-two years imagining.

She looked tired.

Small.

Fragile.

Age had softened her features.

Silver strands ran through her dark hair.

Her hands rested peacefully across her chest.

For a long moment, Gabriel simply stared.

Waiting.

Waiting for anger.

Waiting for resentment.

Waiting for something.

Instead, he felt an unexpected emptiness.

This woman had given birth to him.

She had carried him for nine months.

She had watched him take his first steps.

She had probably kissed scraped knees and comforted childhood fears.

And yet, standing there now, she felt like a stranger.

The realization unsettled him.

Beside him, Lucía quietly began to cry.

She didn't sob.

She didn't make a scene.

Tears simply slid down her cheeks as she stared into the coffin.

Daniel shifted uncomfortably.

Mateo looked away entirely.

Nobody knew how to comfort her.

The truth was that none of them knew how to comfort themselves.

After several minutes, visitors began arriving.

At first, there were only a few.

An elderly couple.

A priest.

A middle-aged woman carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Then more followed.

Not many.

But enough to surprise Gabriel.

He watched people enter the room, approach the coffin, cross themselves, whisper prayers, and leave flowers beside Sofia's photograph.

Most stayed only a few minutes.

Some remained longer.

A few cried openly.

Gabriel found himself studying their faces.

Why were they here?

Why would anyone mourn a woman convicted of murder?

The answer arrived sooner than he expected.

An elderly woman approached Lucía.

She looked to be in her seventies, her grey hair tucked neatly beneath a black veil.

For a moment, she simply stared at Sofia's photograph.

Then she smiled sadly.

"She was beautiful."

Lucía nodded politely.

The woman reached out and squeezed her hand.

"Your mother helped me when my husband died."

Lucía blinked.

"What?"

The woman smiled faintly.

"I had three children and no money. Most people avoided me."

Her gaze drifted toward the coffin.

"But not your mother."

Lucía remained silent.

The woman continued.

"She brought food every week for almost six months."

Gabriel looked up.

That didn't sound right.

Or rather, it didn't sound like the woman he knew.

The woman he knew was a murderer.

The woman she described sounded entirely different.

More visitors came.

With every conversation, the contradiction grew.

"Your mother volunteered at the church."

"She helped teach reading classes."

"She was always kind."

"She never turned anyone away."

Gabriel listened quietly.

Story after story.

Memory after memory.

None of them matched the image he had spent decades carrying.

As evening deepened, the room filled with the soft murmur of conversation.

Candles flickered.

Rain tapped gently against the windows.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, doubt began to settle among the siblings.

It started with Lucía.

Gabriel noticed her listening carefully to every visitor.

Then Daniel began paying attention.

Even Mateo stopped rolling his eyes.

By the time the final guests arrived, nobody was speaking anymore.

They were simply listening.

Listening to stories about a woman they thought they knew.

A woman who suddenly seemed unfamiliar.

Late into the evening, after most visitors had gone home, Lucía remained seated near the coffin.

The room had grown quiet again.

The rain outside had stopped.

Only the occasional crackle of candle flames disturbed the silence.

Lucía stared at her mother's face.

"I don't understand."

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Nobody answered.

She swallowed hard.

"Why does everybody remember her differently than we do?"

The question settled heavily over the room.

Because none of them had an answer.

Gabriel looked toward the coffin once more.

For years, he had believed there were only two victims in his family's story.

His father.

And the children left behind.

Now, for the first time, he found himself wondering whether there had been a third.

And that thought frightened him more than he cared to admit.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***