The next morning, the anxiety in the kitchen was palpable. The coffee tasted bitter. Peter had retrieved the camera just before sunrise, sprinting back to his truck like a criminal. Now, the small black SD card sat on the kitchen table between them.
“What if we don’t like what we see?” Mary whispered, clutching her robe. She had barely slept. The thought of someone—maybe a secret girlfriend, maybe a rival—standing over their boy’s grave while they slept made her skin crawl.
Peter didn’t answer. He just grabbed his laptop and shoved the card into the slot. A folder popped up: 1 Video File Found. He clicked it. The screen was dark and grainy at first, showing the gray outline of Michael’s tombstone. Then, at timestamp 05:03 AM, movement appeared in the corner of the frame.
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