At her husband’s funeral, Nola leaned in for one final kiss — and Fred blinked. Just hours earlier, Nola had received the worst call of her life: Fred had collapsed suddenly during a weekend fishing trip with friends. By the time paramedics arrived, he was unresponsive. Declared dead. Nola was shattered. At the coroner’s office, she identified his body — pale, still, unmistakably him. She honored his wishes: no embalming, no autopsy, cremation only. She planned the funeral in a daze, moving through the motions like someone watching their life from the outside. But at the service,

something stopped her as the lid of the casket began to close. She stepped forward, needing one last moment. One last touch. One last kiss. That’s when she saw it — a flicker. A twitch behind his eyelids. Then his eyes fluttered open. Chaos erupted. Guests screamed. The funeral director dropped his clipboard. Paramedics were called and rushed Fred to the hospital,