At her son’s funeral, a grieving mother refused to believe he was dead. Despite DNA tests and official documents, she insisted, “That’s not my son—I feel it.” Reluctantly attending the service in a blue coat, she carried a heavy black bag no one dared question.

As the coffin was being sealed, she suddenly pulled out an axe and struck the lid with terrifying force. The wood splintered, the coffin cracked open—inside, there was nothing. Gasps, screams, and confusion swept the cemetery. The daughter-in-law turned pale, the priest lowered his eyes, and someone called the police.

A cemetery guard admitted two strangers had removed the body overnight, claiming to have authorization. Yet the morgue records showed no transfer—only a chilling note: “disposal—error in documents.” 

Someone had erased every trace of the man’s existence, perhaps even faked his death.

Sitting on a bench, clutching a fragment of the coffin lid, the mother’s grief turned to steel resolve: if her son lives, she will find him. If not, she will find those responsible.