Through the glass of the crematorium he noticed how his pregnant wife’s belly was trembling slightly. For a moment it seemed that the pain was deceiving him, but the movement was repeated – sharply, noticeably.

Through the crematorium glass, Ethan noticed his wife’s pregnant belly twitch ever so slightly. At first, he blamed grief for distorting his vision, but the movement came again—sharper, unmistakable.

Amara, the woman he had loved and vowed to protect, was gone. She had been taken before their child could enter the world. Standing before the glass, Ethan imagined a life that would never be: her laughter filling their home, tiny footsteps echoing in the halls, the warmth of a family they had dreamed of. He refused an autopsy, unwilling to separate mother from child.

Then, the movement came once more—clear, deliberate, real. Heart racing, he lunged toward the furnace door, shouting for attendants to stop. Chaos erupted. Workers panicked, supervisors were called, and fear filled the room.

When doctors arrived and ran tests, the truth emerged: natural gases had built up in Amara’s body, causing the abdomen to contract. It was not a miracle, only science.

Ethan’s fleeting hope was crushed, leaving him haunted by the image of movement that never signaled life—a cruel, unforgettable farewell.