At my husband’s funeral, I caught sight of this strange old lady holding a tiny baby. Weird, right? I’d never seen her before in my life! Everyone had left, but she was still there. I went up to her and asked, “Who were you to my husband?” Her answer knocked me for a loop: “To him, I’m nobody! But it’s about who I’ve got here. This is his child! He can’t be with his mother anymore. You’re the only one who can raise him! Please!”
Can you believe it?! I was furious, told her to leave. My husband was perfect, he’d never cheat. I lingered by the grave a little longer, then
walked to my car. And then, I heard something behind me. I turned around, and, oh my God!
I turned and saw the baby, wrapped in a thin blue blanket, lying alone on the cold ground. The old woman was gone — vanished like smoke.
For a long moment, I just stared. My heart screamed leave it, walk away, but my legs moved on their own. I picked him up. He was so small, so heartbreakingly light… and when he opened his eyes, they were his eyes — my husband’s.
Tears blurred my vision as I cradled the baby against my chest. I didn’t know the truth. Maybe I never would. But standing there in the dark, I realized it didn’t matter anymore.
He was mine now. And somehow, loving him would have to be enough to mend what was broken.
