A little girl hugged her father in the eerie coffin.

Camila was 8 years old and stood next to the coffin, not moving.
They had been at the wake for hours, and she hadn’t left her side for even a second.

Her mother tried to take her several times, but she wouldn’t leave.
She said she wanted to stay with her father and didn’t cry, just looked at him in silence.

People came by to offer their condolences, and some looked at her with pity, but she didn’t respond; she just stood there, her hands resting on the edge of the coffin.

Julián’s body was dressed in a white shirt he liked, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

He looked pale but calm.

Grandma’s house was full of people.

Some spoke softly, others cried, and children ran around the yard, not quite understanding what was happening.

But Camila didn’t move.

From the moment they arrived, she didn’t want to eat anything or sit down.

She only asked for a chair so she could better reach her father and be close to him.

Some thought she was in shock, but the grandmother said they should leave her alone, that everyone has their own way of saying goodbye.

The mother didn’t want to argue and eventually agreed.
Although she looked tired and her eyes were swollen, she didn’t insist further.

Hours passed, and the atmosphere grew more tense.

It was already nighttime, and there was still time to take the coffin to the cemetery.

The adults began to notice that something wasn’t right, not with the body, but with the girl.

She had stopped talking; she just sat in the chair with her arms crossed on the edge, staring at her father.

Some tried to speak to her, but she didn’t respond.

She wasn’t crying or making any gestures.

It seemed as if she were waiting for something.

And although no one said it out loud, many began to feel a kind of discomfort they couldn’t explain.

As if the child’s calm was too strange, as if something were about to happen.

That night, no one slept.

Some stayed on the porch talking in low voices, and others came and went from the living room to check on the situation.
Camila remained beside the coffin without moving.

She seemed tired, but didn’t want to lie down or go away.

Then her grandmother brought her a blanket and put it around her shoulders.

No one insisted further.

A long time passed, and most of them began to get distracted.
Some went outside to smoke, others went to the kitchen for coffee, and her mother sat in a corner with her head back and her eyes closed.

At that moment, Camila climbed onto the chair, rested one knee on the edge of the coffin, and carefully climbed out.

She did it slowly, as if she had already thought it through.

No one noticed until she was already inside, lying on top of her father’s body, holding him tightly.

When one of the aunts turned around and saw her there, she screamed without thinking, and everyone ran.

It was chaos.

At first, they thought she had fainted or was having a seizure, but when they got closer, they saw something that left them speechless.

Julián’s hand was on Camila’s back, as if he were hugging her too.
Some froze, and others started saying that the girl had moved him, but it didn’t make sense because her hand wasn’t in a forced position; it was resting naturally and her arm was slightly raised.
One of the men tried to move her, but the grandmother wouldn’t let him.

He said they should wait, that something strange was happening.
Camila wasn’t moving, but she didn’t seem unconscious………..
Continued in the first comment under the photo

Her small body rose and fell gently, as if she were breathing in rhythm with her father’s chest. But everyone in the room knew that Julián’s lungs had been still for two days.

The silence was unbearable. A few women crossed themselves, others whispered prayers, while the children were hurried out of the room by trembling hands.

“Leave her,” the grandmother said firmly, her voice carrying an authority that cut through the chaos. “If she wants to say goodbye this way, let her.”

But it didn’t feel like a goodbye.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The candlelight flickered against the coffin’s polished wood, shadows moving like restless spirits on the walls. Camila’s face was pressed against her father’s chest, and though her eyes were closed, she wasn’t asleep. She was listening.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Julián’s lips parted. A faint whisper escaped, so soft only Camila seemed to hear it. Her eyes opened wide, and she clutched him tighter.

“Papa…” she murmured, her voice cracking.

The adults froze. No one had the courage to move closer, but a few swore they saw Julián’s chest rise, just once, shallow but real.

Camila turned her head slowly, looking straight at the stunned faces around her. Her voice was calm, almost eerie:

“He’s not leaving yet.”