Nancy stood at the edge of the cemetery, staring at the mound of freshly turned earth. The wind tugged at her coat, but she barely felt it. It had been a week since Patrick’s death, yet her mind refused to believe he was truly gone. A car crash, they’d told her. Quick, painless. As if that made any difference. As if that would stop the ache that had hollowed out her chest.
Around her, the remnants of the funeral lingered: wilted flowers, overturned chairs, and footsteps in the damp grass. Everyone else had gone back to their lives. She was the only one left behind, still tethered to the moment her world stopped turning.
She turned to leave, clutching her coat tighter when a voice cut through the silence.
“Are you Nancy?”
Nancy stopped. An older woman stood in her path, cradling a baby wrapped in a worn blanket. The woman’s eyes were tired, her posture heavy with something more than grief.
“I am,” Nancy said cautiously. “Who are you?”
“My name is Amanda. This baby… she’s Patrick’s.”
Nancy’s heart skipped, then thudded hard in protest. “Excuse me?”
“He’s her father. Her mother… she can’t care for her anymore.”
“You’re lying.” Her voice was flat, firm. “Patrick was my husband. I knew him.”
“I understand this is hard,” Amanda said gently. “But the baby needs someone. And you’re her only chance.”
Nancy didn’t wait to hear more. She turned on her heel, the baby’s cries chasing her as she walked away. She couldn’t process it. Not today.