He told me they had removed the object safely, that it had been well sealed but had caused a severe localized infection, that she was in delicate condition but stable.

And behind him, a crime scene technician stepped forward in rubber gloves, holding up a clear evidence bag, and inside it was the tiny, dark, scratched metal cylinder that had lived inside my mother for months.

It looked absurdly small in the harsh light.

Such a little thing, to have held an entire family’s darkness inside it.

They opened it, there, in front of the police officers.

Inside was a microSD card, wrapped tightly in layer after layer of plastic.