After my wife’s funeral, I returned home. I was so empty. I didn’t even take my coat off. I just walked into our bedroom and collapsed onto her side of the bed, still wearing my shoes.

Her scent lingered on the sheets.
The room was dim, lit only by the small nightlight by the bed. I reached for the framed photo on the nightstand — our favorite from our engagement day — and stared at it like I’d done so many times before.
But then, something strange happened. As I held the photo, I felt a bump behind the frame.

At first, I thought nothing of it, but my fingers kept tracing it, and without thinking, I removed the glass and pulled the frame apart.