Grief makes us do strange things. A week after burying my 35-year-old husband, I found myself scrolling through his emails, desperate for any connection to the man I’d lost. That’s when I discovered the location tracking service he’d secretly subscribed to months earlier.
With trembling hands, I logged in using his old password. The map showed a blinking dot just miles from our home – his supposed current location. My heart raced as I grabbed my car keys, not knowing what I’d find.
Then the chat notification appeared. A stranger’s photo popped up with a message: “Are you still there? What should we do next?” Before I could process this, a selfie came through from my husband’s account – featuring a man I’d never seen before. In that moment, I didn’t know whether to feel relief or fresh devastation at the cruel possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was still alive.
