It was locked with a passcode.

Beside me, Chloe stirred in her own chair, and murmured, without opening her eyes, “Try Grandma’s birthday.”

I entered the six digits of Teresa’s birthday, and the phone unlocked instantly.

I have thought about that, since, that my eight-year-old daughter not only saw what a room of adults missed, but also, half-asleep in a hospital chair, cracked a grown man’s passcode on the first try, because she paid attention to things, because she noticed and remembered, because her whole way of being in the world was to observe and retain what the rest of us let slip past.

I opened the messaging app, and found the thread with the text I had glimpsed at the wake.