"No."
The word came out sharper than Catherine expected.
The room turned to her.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
"No… this doesn't make sense," she said again, more firmly this time. "None of it does."
Silence answered her.
But it wasn't empty.
It was waiting.
Catherine looked at Jack.
Then at Richard.
Then at the faces around her—fearful, confused, uncertain.
"We buried someone," she said slowly. "We cried over that coffin. We said our goodbyes."
Her voice trembled.
"But if he's here…" she swallowed hard, "…then who did we bury?"
A chill spread through the room.
Someone gasped.
Another person crossed themselves.
"No…" an elderly woman whispered. "Don't say such things…"
But the question had already been spoken.
And now—
It couldn't be taken back.
Jack stepped forward.
"Yes," he said, his voice steady despite everything. "Exactly."
He looked around the room, his eyes searching, pleading.
"Don't you see? That body wasn't mine."
His gaze landed on Catherine again.
"Cathy… we need to find out who it was."
Her breath caught.
Find out?
How?
There was only one way.
And everyone in the room knew it.
"No," someone said immediately.
"We can't do that."
"That's disturbing the dead—"
"It's wrong!"
But the idea had already taken root.
And it was growing fast.
Catherine's hands trembled at her sides.
Her mind screamed at her to stop.
To leave things as they were.
To accept whatever this was and move on.
But her heart—
Her heart refused.
Because if she didn't face the truth now…
She might never find it again.
"We have to," she said.
The room fell still.
Richard's eyes flickered slightly.
Jack looked at her, something like hope returning to his expression.
Catherine's voice grew stronger.
"We have to open the grave."
Gasps echoed around her.
Her children, standing quietly at the edge of the room, clung to each other tighter.
The air turned cold.
Heavy.
Final.
"That's not necessary."
Richard's voice came calmly.
Too calmly.
Catherine turned to him.
"Not necessary?" she repeated.
He stepped forward slowly, his expression composed.
"Grief can make people act irrationally," he said. "Digging up a body will only bring more pain."
Jack scoffed.
"Or more truth," he shot back.
Richard ignored him.
Instead, he looked directly at Catherine.
"You've already suffered enough," he said gently. "Do you really want to see… that again?"
Images flashed through her mind—
The coffin.
The burned remains.
The unbearable smell of death.
Her stomach twisted violently.
For a moment—
She almost gave in.
But then—
She remembered something.
Jack's voice on the phone.
"I'll be home soon, Cathy."
Her grip tightened.
"No," she said quietly.
Then louder—
"No."
Her eyes locked onto Richard's.
"We're opening that grave."
The tension snapped.
Some people protested.
Others stayed silent.
And a few—
A very few—
Nodded.
Because deep down…
They needed to know too.
Richard's expression didn't change.
But his eyes—
For just a second—
Turned cold.
"Fine," he said after a pause. "If that is what you all want."
Jack frowned slightly.
Something about that response didn't feel right.
Too easy.
Too smooth.
Catherine didn't notice.
She was already turning toward the door.
"We're going now," she said. "Before I lose the courage to do it."
Night had fallen by the time they reached the cemetery.
The sky was dark, the air thick with silence.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
A small group stood by the fresh grave.
Catherine.
Jack.
Richard.
And a few others brave—or desperate—enough to come.
A shovel hit the ground.
The sound echoed like a warning.
It was too late to turn back.
Catherine stood still as the men began to dig.
Each movement felt unreal.
Each sound—
Too loud.
Too final.
Jack stood beside her, his presence solid, grounding… yet still confusing.
He wanted to reach for her.
To hold her.
But he didn't.
Because he could feel it—
The distance between them.
Time passed slowly.
Painfully.
Until—
"Stop."
The voice cut through the night.
The digging ceased.
The coffin had been reached.
Catherine's heart pounded violently.
Her hands went cold.
This was it.
The truth.
Right beneath her feet.
"Open it," Jack said quietly.
No one moved.
Then—
Slowly—
The lid was lifted.
The smell hit first.
Rotten.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Some people turned away immediately.
Others covered their noses.
But Catherine—
She forced herself to look.
Her eyes fell onto the body inside.
Burned.
Charred.
Almost unrecognizable.
Just like before.
Her breath shook.
Her vision blurred.
But she didn't look away.
She couldn't.
Not now.
Not when the truth was right there.
Jack stepped closer.
His jaw tightened.
"That's not me," he said firmly.
But that wasn't enough.
Not anymore.
Catherine leaned forward slightly.
Her eyes scanning.
Searching.
Desperate.
Then—
She saw it.
Something small.
Something hidden beneath the blackened remains.
Something no one had noticed before.
A chain.
Thin.
Silver.
Half-burned.
Her breath caught.
"No…"
Her voice trembled.
Her hand lifted slowly.
Shaking.
Reaching—
And then she froze.
Because suddenly—
She remembered.
Jack didn't wear chains.
He hated jewelry.
Always had.
Her heart dropped.
"This…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, "…this isn't his."
Silence.
Heavy.
Explosive.
Jack turned sharply toward her.
"What?"
Catherine's eyes filled with tears.
"This isn't you," she said, louder now. "It was never you."
A wave of shock spread through the group.
Murmurs.
Fear.
Realization.
Then—
A quiet sound.
Almost too soft to notice.
Click.
Jack's head snapped up.
His instincts screamed.
Something was wrong.
From the shadows—
A figure moved.
And before anyone could react—
A voice whispered into the darkness:
"You should have stayed dead."