A month after my husband, 42, passed unexpectedly, his phone chimed. A charge had just been made on his
supposedly frozen account—for a hotel room. My hands trembled as I grabbed the keys and entered the address into my GPS.
Halfway there, his phone rang. Caller ID: “Mike – Work.” Mike was his old coworker… but the voice wasn’t his.
“Hey man, I got the room like you asked. Sure you want to do this today? It’s been a month—she might
not be ready.” My heart raced. “Text me if plans change. I’m at the coffee shop next to the hotel. Hope she likes the surprise.”
I rushed to Room 214 and knocked. The door opened to reveal Daniel, my husband’s younger brother, eyes red,
expression nervous. Behind him, the room was dim, filled with candles, framed photos of us, and a velvet box on the nightstand.
“He planned this,” Daniel said. “Told me if anything ever happened, I had to give you this.” Inside
the box was a necklace engraved: “You were my always. And still are.”
I collapsed in tears. Even after death, he found a way to remind me I was never alone.
