“Is there another camera angle?” I asked quietly.
The administrator clicked through the recordings.
Another camera showed the same moment from farther away.
Again, Noah was standing by himself.
Talking.
Laughing.
Then he suddenly hugged the air in front of him.
My heart stopped.
I covered my mouth as tears rushed to my eyes.
The administrator looked uncomfortable. She turned toward me carefully.
“Sometimes children imagine things,” she said gently. “It can be part of processing grief.”
I nodded, but my mind was spinning.
Because Noah had never been the kind of child who invented imaginary friends.
And something else was bothering me.
Something I couldn’t explain.
That evening, I asked Noah again.
“Sweetheart,” I said softly while we sat on the couch, “when you said Ethan came to see you… what did you mean?”
Noah looked down at his hands.
“He came during recess,” he said quietly.
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