My husband died on a Tuesday. Heart attack. Fifty-one years old. No warning. No goodbyes. The funeral was a blur. Casseroles. Sympathy cards. People saying "he's in a better place" like that helps. Two weeks later, I finally opened his laptop. The password was our daughter's birthday. Maya. She's seven. I wasn't looking for anything. Just closing accounts. Canceling subscriptions. The paperwork of death.