The next morning, Mark left for work at his usual time.
I waited until his truck disappeared.
Then I went into the small bedroom he used as an office.
His old laptop sat on the desk.
I opened it.
The login screen appeared.
For years, Mark had used the same password.
Sophie’s name and birth year.
I entered it.
Incorrect.
I frowned.
Mark rarely changed passwords.
I tried our anniversary.
Incorrect.
I tried his grandfather’s name.
Incorrect.
One attempt remained.
I stopped.
What would Mark choose as a password?
What place meant the most to him?
Suddenly, I thought of the lake.
I typed:
LoonLake
Then pressed Enter.
The screen unlocked.
I sat very still.
The desktop looked familiar.
A picture of Sophie at her high school graduation.
Construction invoices.
Project bids.
Tax documents.
But one folder stood out.
It had no written title.
Only a tiny gold-ring icon.
