I took my late husband’s phone in for repair — when the technician finished the job and turned the device on, a message immediately appeared on the screen.

I stayed there waiting. While he worked, I sat in the only chair and stared out the dirty window, where raindrops trickled down. I thought about the children. About how they were growing up without their father. About how each of them was coping with the loss in a different way. The daughter tried to be strong. The son still asked, sometimes, when his father would come home.

The technician worked silently. You could tell he was experienced—firm, precise movements. After a while, he connected the phone to the charger and pressed the power button. The screen lit up. A common, familiar screen.

And almost immediately, the phone vibrated.

I noticed the technician staring at the device. His expression changed. For a moment he said nothing, just frowned and continued looking at the screen for a few seconds.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.