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When my husband’s belongings were placed gently back into my hands after he was gone, I sorted through them slowly, one piece at a time. Grief has a way of slowing the world down. Each item felt like a small reminder of the life we had built together.
While going through his car one afternoon, I found something I couldn’t explain: a garage door opener. We didn’t own a garage that needed one, and as far as I knew, he hadn’t borrowed or stored anything nearby.
