Echoes of the Digital Ghost

The fire crackled, but its warmth couldn't melt the ice between them. Zarina sat across from her children, her face pale from sleepless nights. Since Erikur's death, silence had replaced conversation. Now, only grief sat with them.

Jack held the black tablet like it might break in his hands. "I need to show you something," he said quietly.

Jane didn't even lift her head. "What now? Another sad message?"

"It's from Dad." Jack's voice trembled. "A will. Not the normal kind. It's about his digital life, his accounts, music royalties, Bitcoin, everything."

Jane looked up, curious despite herself. "A digital will?"

Jack nodded. "It's all here. He wrote that we should handle it together."

Zarina leaned in. Her voice was low, uncertain. "He wrote… 'The key is where I found peace.' That's all he said about how to unlock it."

Jane's eyes lit up. "His cabin. He used to say that place healed him."

Jack let out a breath. "Or it could be his workshop or the beach. Great. We're chasing riddles now."

"Enough," Zarina said, her voice cracking. "He left this for a reason."

Jane looked at Jack. "Maybe the key isn't just to his accounts. Maybe it's something else, something we need to find in each other."

Jack didn't answer. He stared at the fire like it had betrayed him.

Zarina watched her children from across the room, feeling further from them than ever. Since Erikur died, they'd spoken to her only out of duty. Grief had split them in different ways, and she once the heart of their home was left trying to stitch together what remained.

She had made all the arrangements alone. Chosen the suit he was buried in. Signed the death certificates. And now, even in her own home, she felt like a shadow. Her husband was gone. Her children were drifting. And no one had asked her how she was holding up.

"Then we start tomorrow," she said, unsure if they were listening.

But Jane gave a small nod, and Jack didn't argue. For now, that was enough.

The next morning, the house felt heavier. In Erikur's study, the light from the laptop cast shadows across old books and unopened letters. Jack and Jane sat side by side, but didn't speak.

"Mom said we should do this together," Jane whispered.

"She also said we'd be a family again," Jack muttered. "Guess that didn't happen either."

Zarina stood behind them, but neither child looked at her. She felt invisible in her own home. She had cooked, cleaned, tried to be strong, but their eyes never met hers. Not truly.

Jane opened a folder called Memories. Photos filled the screen, birthdays, vacations, Erikur's blurry selfies. Her hand covered her mouth.

"He wrote this," she whispered. "'Coming home to Jane's laughter and Jack's stubbornness reminds me what truly matters.'"

Jack scoffed. "He also left us this mess." He clicked another folder, revealing unpaid bills, half-finished plans, forgotten passwords.

Jane didn't look. "He was human, Jack."

"He was careless. He gave us a legacy built on clutter."

"No," Jane said, shaking her head. "He gave us proof he loved us. You're just afraid to see it."

Zarina watched them argue. Her fingers trembled against the back of the chair. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She had begged Erikur to talk to them while he was alive. He didn't. And now she carried the blame, the silence, the empty chair beside her bed.

She remembered once overhearing Erikur whisper to a friend that he was afraid to be vulnerable around Jack. That he wanted to leave behind something great but didn't know how to say the things that mattered most.

Suddenly, Jane gasped. "There's a video. Labeled For Jack and Jane."

Jack hesitated, then leaned in.

Erikur appeared on the screen, older, tired, but smiling. "Hi, kids," he began. "If you're watching this, I'm not around anymore. But there's something you should know."

His voice was warm, familiar. "Your legacy isn't money. It's the people you love. The moments you share. The good you leave behind."

Jane's eyes overflowed. Jack's jaw tightened.

"I know I wasn't perfect," Erikur continued. "But I hope you'll remember the best of me, and forgive the rest."

Jack stood up suddenly. "I can't do this."

He shut the laptop with a snap.

"Jack!" Jane stood, anger rising.

"He made me feel like I was never enough. He praised you, Jane. I got the lectures, the expectations."

"He believed in you," she said, hurt flickering in her voice.

"No. He believed in what I could've been. Not who I was."

Zarina stepped forward, hands out. "He did his best "

"Then maybe his best wasn't good enough," Jack said sharply.

Zarina froze, words stuck in her throat. She turned away, blinking hard to fight back tears. She wasn't just losing Erikur, she was losing them, too.

Jane placed a hand on Jack's arm. "You're not failing him," she said softly. "You're grieving. So am I."

Jack sank back down. "I don't know how to miss him without being angry."

"Then be angry," Jane said. "But don't shut me out. Or Mom."

Zarina heard her name and stopped walking away. Jane reached out to her.

"Come sit," she said gently.

Zarina sat. Not as their mother, not as their guide just as someone who loved him too.

And in that quiet moment, for the first time, none of them felt alone.

The gravel crunched beneath their tires as they pulled up to Erikur's old cabin in the woods. It stood quiet, unchanged, tucked among pine trees and memories.

Zarina hadn't been there since before the cancer. Back then, Erikur would sit by the porch with a mug and a faraway look in his eyes. It was the only place he seemed at peace.

Now she stepped inside first. Dust coated the wooden floor. The smell of pine and old books lingered. Her eyes scanned the room like she might find him there, waiting.

"Where do we start?" Jack asked, arms crossed.

Jane moved toward a bookshelf. "Somewhere quiet. He wouldn't have hidden it. He would've… left it where it felt right."

Zarina's hands brushed against a small music box on the mantle. She opened it. The soft tune echoed gently through the cabin. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a USB drive.

Jane gasped. "Is that it?"

Jack took it, turning it over. A label was etched on the side: Peace.

They returned to the city that night, and Jack plugged the USB into the laptop. Files filled the screen and everything Erikur had locked away. Bank details. Bitcoin keys. A folder marked To Zarina.

She hesitated, then opened it. A single letter appeared.

"I was never brave enough to say this while I was alive," it began. "But you carried this family while I chased dreams. You held us together when I didn't know how. I failed you more than once. I wish I could take it back."

Zarina's breath caught.

"But I see now everything I had was because of you."

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Jane touched her hand. "He saw you, Mom. Even if he didn't say it."

Jack looked away, then quietly said, "I'm sorry, Mom. For blaming you."

Zarina closed the laptop and looked at her children not as a grieving widow, but as a woman who had survived. A woman who had loved deeply and been left with silence in return.

"Maybe this isn't about what he left us," she said softly. "Maybe it's about what we choose to carry forward."

And just then, it wasn't about the will or the assets. It was about the second chance to understand someone they thought they'd already known.

They sat together in the quiet, no longer haunted by a digital ghost, but guided by something deeper.