And started feeling guided.
I went home and emptied Daniel’s old hospital bag onto the dining room table.
Socks.
Lip balm.
A paperback.
And at the bottom, a small notebook.
Most of the pages contained ordinary things.
Groceries.
Bills.
Reminders.
But one name appeared several times in the margins.
Owen.
I called Ruth, the hospice nurse who had visited Daniel near the end.
She remembered me immediately.
“Did Daniel ever talk about someone named Owen?”
A long pause.
“Yes. An old friend. He visited once while you were showering.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Did Daniel give him anything?”
Another pause.
“His watch.”
I stopped breathing.
“I remember because Daniel specifically told me not to include it with his personal belongings. He said, ‘That one is already spoken for.’ I assumed you knew.”
I closed my eyes.
One piece finally made sense.
Unfortunately, it made everything else more confusing.
