text: I never imagined that I’d be a widow at 27 and six months pregnant to boot, but here I am at my husband’s visitation, sitting in the front row, literally crying on my mother’s shoulder. Her arm tightens around me. “Hey, I was also a single mom and I managed. You’ll manage, too. And of course, I’m always here to help.” “But that was different. You were a teenager. Luke and I were married and in love. It was like we were born for each other. And he didn’t run off on me; he died.” I know I’m bordering on histrionic, but a mere week ago Luke was here, massaging my sore feet and rubbing my protruding belly. Now he’s lying lifeless in the casket several feet from me, the victim of a drunk driver. I’d like to have the perspective to say that he’s now reunited with his mother - who died 5 years previous - but the wound is still too fresh. Luke’s father, on the other hand, is very much alive, and very much not here. As though she’s read my mind, my mother asks, “Didn’t you say his father was coming?” I wipe away a tear with the back of my hand. “He called me to say he was, but I wouldn’t count on it, 'cause it's been years since he and Luke spoke. I mean, he didn’t even show up to our wedding. But now that Luke’s gone, I’ll probably never get to see his face now.” I sniffle. “Which suits me just fine; he was never there for Luke anyway.” My mother hands me a tissue. “Rat bastard.” When visitation hours are over and our fellow mourners have filed out (after offering hugs and condolences) my mother and I slowly take our leave, stopping short when we see a man standing in the foyer of the funeral home, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. “Can I help you?” I ask. The man looks up at me: eyes tinted pink, face sagging with remorse. Awkwardly, he extends a hand. “I’m um, Luke’s father. I’ve been standing out here for 20 minutes, deciding whether I should come in...” Just when a bitter retort rises up in my throat like bile, my mother pales. “Wait a minute...Jeffrey?” Luke’s father’s wet eyes focus on my mother. “A-Anita?” Now his glance is darting back and forth between my mother and I. “Oh my God, is this...” My mother releases a choked sob, collapsing to her knees on the carpeted floor. “No...” As Luke’s father clutches at his hair, the realization of their discovery hits me like a freight train. And that’s when I feel the baby kick for the first time.