[ WP ] When someone dies their memories are transferred to their spouse . Knowing he is going to die soon , a loving husband leaves a present for his wife in his memories .

Rachael was dreaming - she was sure of it. This could n't be real, after all. Her husband, her beloved James, had passed away and she was nothing. She felt nothing. Empty as the condolences of a pastor who had never met James, and would never understand why his friends called him Crazy Jim. The pastor rambled on about the superficial details that in no way gave light to what an amazing man James was. People thanked James for how much he helped them, the hospital staffed paid for a huge wreath with tacky red flowers that looked like drops of blood. Patients sent cards. A boy in the back sat with his face in his hands. Rachael sleptwalked through the funeral, holding a cup of strong coffee that was pressed into her hands by an unrecognized face. She wet her lips, but did not drink. 
 
 
 An hour after the funeral, and Rachael was n't too sure how she arrived at the reception - she had blinked and there she was. Different people milled around her, handing her plates of food that she just put down. She could n't eat. Everyone know you ca n't eat in dreams. Rachael sat down on an overstuffed chair that smelled like mothballs and waited to wake up. 
 
 
 It took two days for the reality to set in. James was gone, gone, and Rachael had spent much of the past day howling in agony. She pulled at her hair and wailed, she clawed and bit and writhed, because she afraid that her heartbreak would swallow her and only her inflicted pain reminded her to live. Gone was the stunned emptiness; grief had grabbed her. 
 
 
 A week after the funeral, a package arrived. With shaking hands, Rachael signed off for it. The package was deceptively small, only about the size of a deck of cards, but Rachael was too scared to open it. She knew what it contained. She quickly covered it up with a stack of bills. 
 
 
 It took until two weeks after the funeral before Rachael was brave enough to uncover the package. It was dusty. Rachael felt an absurd urge to apologize for leaving it. She bit her lip nervously and reached for the tiny box. It was so light she could barely feel the weight of it in her hand. It rustled. She put in back down and left the room. 
 
 
 Seventeen days after the funeral, Rachael finally opened the box. Inside was a plain USB drive, solid black, with the words BLACKWOOD MORTUARY HOME in gold typeface engraved on one side. On the other - JAMES W. BAKER. Just seeing the name brought a fresh wave of panic over her, but she fought it down. Rachael had waited long enough. Trembling, biting down the grief that still raged inside her, she plugged it into her computer. A prompted flashed on the screen, then audio started to play. It was garbled at first, but it refined into a painfully cheerful male voice. 
 
 
 `` My darling Rachael... I know this is so terribly sudden. Please do n't blame the driver, he's just a kid. It's my fault anyway, I was jaywalking. You always said I rushed around too much - but I was in such a hurry to get back to you. I have great news! Do you remember that routine bloodwork you asked me to run for you? Well, it came back - with a surprise! Rachael, my love, my everything, you're pregnant! I never dreamed... not with how bad your PCOS... hope it's a little girl... like her mother... boy... playing with trucks... 
 
 Love... love... love... y- Rac... Do n't blame... Love... Preg... Love...''
