I still pay for my dead sister’s phone number because I can’t stand the idea of someone else receiving her messages

My younger sister died three years ago, and I’ve kept her phone line active ever since. At first, there were practical reasons. Some of her accounts still used the number for verification, relatives kept calling because they didn’t know what had happened, and I was terrified we might lose photos or voice messages connected to it. I moved the line onto my plan, transferred everything I could, and told myself I’d cancel it once all the paperwork was finished. The paperwork has been finished for more than two years. I’m still paying $38 a month for a phone that stays powered off in a drawer beside my bed. The truth is, I don’t want the number to be reassigned. I know phone companies eventually recycle old numbers, and the thought of some stranger receiving messages meant for her makes me feel physically sick. Her dentist still sends appointment reminders. A clothing store texts her birthday coupons. Once or twice a year, someone who never heard what happened sends something like, “Hey, it’s been forever. How are you?” Last Christmas, an old friend sent a long message apologizing for losing touch and saying she hoped my sister was happy. I read it at 2 AM and cried. For a moment, I almost replied pretending to be her, but I stopped myself. I still text the number sometimes too. Nothing dramatic. Just things like, “Mom finally fixed the kitchen,” or, “You would have hated this movie.” The messages show as delivered because the phone line technically still exists. I know she isn’t reading them. I’m not confused about that. But sending them feels more like leaving a letter somewhere than shouting into an empty room. My family thinks the line was cancelled years ago. I’ve never told them because I know they would either think it was unhealthy or ask to use the phone themselves, and somehow that feels too private. Her number was part of her life for so long. It was on forms, old group chats, random delivery accounts, and every message she ever sent me. I can afford the bill, but I’ve spent more than a thousand dollars preserving ten digits that don’t really belong to anyone anymore. Sometimes I wonder how long I’m going to keep doing this. Five years? Ten? Until I die and someone eventually finds the phone in the drawer? I know keeping the number active isn’t keeping her alive. I just can’t stand the idea of some random person getting it, receiving a message that says, “Happy birthday, we miss you,” and replying, “Wrong number.” So every month the charge appears. And every month, I pay it without thinking about it too much.