The room inhaled as one.
She was sitting at her kitchen table, wearing the same soft gray sweater she used to wear on quiet Sundays. Her hair was pulled back loosely, her face pale but calm. Too calm.
Elliot’s stomach dropped.
“No…” he whispered, barely audible.
Vanessa stiffened beside him.
Naomi looked directly into the camera.
And smiled.
“Hello, Elliot.”
The sound of his name echoed through the church like a gunshot.
Gasps broke out. Someone dropped a program. A woman in the second row covered her mouth. The priest stepped back as if the screen itself had become dangerous.
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