My husband handled all the funeral arrangements.
A week later, the hospital called and said they still had some of Emily’s belongings and that I needed to come pick them up.
I forced myself to go.
The nurse who had been caring for Emily that day met me in the hallway and handed me a bag.
She kept looking at the floor, and it seemed like she was acting strangely.
But I was too devastated to ask if she was okay, so I simply left.
When I got home, I carried the bag into Emily’s room.

I took the clothes out of the bag and placed them on her bed so I could fold them.
But when I picked up the pink sweater Emily had been wearing when she was admitted to the hospital, something slipped out of the sleeve.
It was a crumpled note.
A flash drive was taped to it.