I drove straight to Sarah’s house.
She had no idea how someone could’ve taken that photo — her doors were locked, curtains drawn.
She checked her camera system too.
Same thing.
Footage cuts off at 2:45 AM.
No errors. Just gone.
I decided to go to the police.
I brought the photos.
They scanned them.
The officer stared at his screen, silent, then called his supervisor.
They asked me one question:
“Are you in contact with a man named Raymond Burke?”
I froze.
Raymond Burke was my husband.
He died 17 years ago.
I said, “That’s impossible.”
But the officer turned the monitor toward me.
He had zoomed in on the reflection in the kitchen window in Sarah’s photo.
It was Raymond.
Wearing the same clothes he was buried in.
