Astoria reached the coffin and rose on her hind legs, a majestic silhouette against the gray sky. Her front hooves came down with a force that reverberated through the coffin’s lid, splitting it open with a crack that echoed through the cemetery. I gasped and clasped my hand to my mouth, my mind struggling to comprehend what was happening.

The assembled crowd fell silent, their whispers and murmurs swallowed by the enormity of the spectacle. I stepped forward, my eyes locked on the broken coffin. Inside, beneath the shattered lid, lay my husband—his face serene, almost as if he were merely asleep. But alongside him was something none of us expected: a small lockbox, gilded and ornate, nestled beside his hands.

Curiosity and disbelief wrestled within me. I reached in, my trembling fingers brushing against the cold metal of the box. It was heavier than it looked, its surface engraved with intricate patterns that hinted at secrets untold. I glanced at Astoria, who stood calm and steady now, as if her mission was fulfilled. Her eyes met mine, conveying an understanding beyond words—a silent urging to open the box.