After my husband’s funeral, I whispered, “My water just broke.” His mother scoffed, “We’re grieving. Call a taxi yourself.”

Part 2
Vivian pushed past me anyway.

That was her first mistake.

“Where is he?” she demanded, her eyes sweeping my home as if she already owned it. “Where is Samuel’s son?”

“My son is sleeping.”

“Our blood,” Derek snapped.

I smiled faintly. “Strange. Blood didn’t seem very important twelve days ago.”

Vivian’s nostrils flared. “You were hysterical. We were in sh0ck.”

“You told me to call a taxi.”

“You survived.”

“So did the recording.”