The car crash had left me hollowed out, but time, cruel and steady, had dulled the sharpest edges of my grief.
Now, I carried it like a phantom limb, always there, faintly aching. I tried as hard as I could to move on from that sense of pain, but nothing could get me to move on.
I liked to visit early, before the world woke up. The quiet suited my need to be alone with him, with my memories of him. But that morning, someone was already there.
Her.
The woman from the parking lot.
She stood at James’ grave, her baby balanced on her hip, gathering the fresh lilies I’d planted a while ago. My breath snagged as I watched her slip the stems into a plastic bag.
“What the hell are you doing?” I exclaimed.
The words tore out of me before I could stop them.
She spun around, her eyes wide with alarm. The baby looked startled but didn’t cry.
“I… I can explain,” she stammered.
She blinked at me as if I’d slapped her straight across the face.
“Your husband?”
“Yes!” I snapped. “James. Why are you here?”
Her face crumpled, and she held the baby tighter, breathing heavily as though she was trying hard not to cry.
“I didn’t know… I didn’t know he was your husband. I didn’t know James was with anyone else…”
The cold air seemed to thicken around us. The baby whimpered.
“What are you talking about? Excuse me? What the hell are you saying?”
“James. James is my baby’s father, ma’am.”
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