The priest paused, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “This is highly irregular,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “We should let Lily rest in peace.”
But peace was not what Max sensed. He pawed and whined, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a truth in his gaze, a loyalty that only a dog’s heart could hold. He was telling us something, something vital, something we all had missed.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on my shoulders. I turned to the rest of the family, meeting my son-in-law’s eyes. “Please,” I implored, “just this once, let’s listen to him.”
After what felt like an eternity, he nodded, his face ashen but resolute. The funeral director, a man of few words and many years of experience, stepped for.
