Grief changes you in ways you never expect. Some days, it's a dull ache in your chest. Other days, it blindsides you like a sucker punch to the heart.

That summer morning in my kitchen, staring at an anonymous letter, I felt something entirely different. I think it was hope mixed with a little bit of terror.

My hands trembled as I read those five words again, "They're not really gone."

The crisp white paper felt like it was burning my fingers. I thought I'd been managing my grief, trying to create a stable life for my grandkids, Andy and Peter, after losing my daughter, Monica, and her husband, Stephen. But this note made me realize how wrong I was.

They got into an accident two years ago. I still remember how Andy and Peter kept asking me where their parents were and when they'd return.

It took me so many months to make them understand their mom and dad would never return. It broke my heart as I told them they'd have to manage things on their own now, and that I'd be there for them whenever they needed their parents.

After all the hard work I'd put in, I received this anonymous letter that claimed Monica and Stephan were still alive.

"They're... not really gone?" I whispered to myself, sinking into my kitchen chair. "What kind of sick game is this?"

I had crumpled the paper and was about to throw it away when my phone buzzed.

It was my credit card company, alerting me to a charge on Monica's old card. The one I'd kept active just to hold onto a piece of her.

"How is that even possible?" I whispered. "I've had this card for two years. How can someone use it when it's been sitting in the drawer?"

I immediately called the bank's customer support helpline.

"Hello, this is Billy speaking. How may I help you?" the customer service representative answered.

"Hi. I, uh, wanted to verify this recent transaction on my daughter's card," I said.

"Of course. May I have the first six and last four digits of the card number and your relationship to the account holder?" Billy asked.

I gave him the details, explaining, "I'm her mother. She… passed away two years ago, and I've been managing her remaining accounts."

There was a pause on the line, and then Billy spoke carefully. "I'm very sorry to hear that, ma'am. I don't see a transaction on this card. The one you're talking about has been made using a virtual card linked to the account."

"A virtual card?" I asked, frowning. "But I never linked one to this account. How can a virtual card be active when I have the physical card here?"

"Virtual cards are separate from the physical card, so they can continue to function independently unless deactivated. Would you like me to cancel the virtual card for you?" Billy asked gently.

"No, no," I managed to speak. I didn't want to cancel the card thinking Monica must've activated it when she was alive. "Please leave it active. Could you tell me when the virtual card was created?"

There was a pause as he checked. "It was activated a week before the date you mentioned your daughter passed."

I felt a chill run down my spine. "Thank you, Billy. That'll be all for now."

Then, I called my closest friend Ella. I told her about the strange letter and the transaction on Monica's card.