It was past eleven — the hour I used to wake to turn Vivian in her medical bed so she wouldn’t get pressure sores.

The silence pressed on my eardrums like a weight.

I unzipped my suitcase and pulled out a battered tablet, an old one Mark and I had shared before he upgraded.

The moment it caught the motel Wi-Fi, a flood of synced notifications lit the screen. Mark, who had the technological instincts of a brick, had never unlinked his alert email from this device.

One subject line stopped me. Charge Authorized: Grand Wailea Resort, Maui — $3,500. The timestamp matched the exact minute Vivian’s heart had stopped.

A messaging app was still logged in. A text from Mark’s sister, Susan — who had skipped the funeral citing a migraine — sat unread.