Daniel signed forms. Daniel spoke to the hospital. Daniel told me, “Don’t worry. I have it.”

At that moment, I couldn’t even fathom dealing with any of that.

A week after the funeral, the hospital called.

A clerk named Tessa said, “We still have Grace’s belongings. Her clothes. You can pick them up.”

Daniel looked up from his laptop too fast. “I can get them,” he said.

Then he paused. “Actually, maybe you should. For closure.”

At home, I went into Grace’s room and shut the door.

At the hospital, Tessa handed me a clear plastic bag with Grace’s name printed on a label.

Hannah appeared behind the desk and froze when she saw me. She didn’t smile or offer a script. She took the bag from Tessa and pressed it into my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I managed to get into the security feed. I picked up Grace’s clothes for you, too. Check it when you get home.”

Then she glanced up at the ceiling camera. One glance. One flinch. And she walked away.

At home, I went into Grace’s room and shut the door.

“Your husband is lying to you.”

Her bed was still made. Her stuffed rabbit was still propped against her pillow.

I emptied the bag onto the blanket. Tiny socks. Star leggings. The pink sweater she’d worn when we rushed out the door.

I folded it the way she liked, because my hands needed something to do.

A crumpled note slid out of the right sleeve. A black flash drive was taped to the bottom. The note read:

“Your husband is lying to you. Watch the video. Alone.”

My heart started pounding so hard that my vision blurred.

The first angle was the ICU hallway.

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