The atmosphere at my husband’s funeral was heavy with grief. Surrounded by whispered condolences and the scent of freshly turned earth, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the final resting place of the man I loved. It was during this moment of sorrow that I encountered an elderly lady, cradling a tiny baby in her arms. Confusion and unease washed over me as I observed her, wondering how she was connected to my faithful husband.
With all the courage I could muster, I approached her cautiously, my voice trembling with emotion as I asked, “Who are you to my husband?” Her answer struck me like a bolt of lightning. “To him, I’m nobody,” she said with a pleading tone. “But this is his child. He can’t be with his mother anymore. Only you can raise him. Please!”
