I married a terminally ill stranger so he would not face his final days by himself. For seven days, I was his wife. Then Edward’s lawyer placed his old green backpack in my hands and said, “He wanted you to know the truth.”

Each one marked with a place.

Bus Stop.

Grocery Store.

Airport.

Laundromat.

Park Bench.

Waiting Room.

Hospital Chapel.

At the very bottom was a worn notebook with bent edges, but I did not open it yet.

The envelopes unsettled me more.