You don’t expect life to unravel on a Tuesday.

But that’s exactly what happened.

Stepping out of the grocery store, arms full of bags, I spotted her—sitting on the curb, cradling a baby wrapped in a faded blue blanket.

“Please,” she murmured, barely above the drizzle. “Anything will help.”

I never give money to strangers. But something about her—her exhaustion, the tiny boy in her arms—made me stop. I handed her $50, hoping she’d find warmth and safety.

That should have been the end of it.

But the next morning, at my late husband’s grave, I saw her again.

She stood there, gathering the fresh lilies I’d left.

“What the hell are you doing?” The words flew out before I could stop them.

She turned, startled. “I… I didn’t know he was your husband. I didn’t know James was with anyone else…”

The ground beneath me shifted violently.

James? My James?

Tears welled in her eyes. “James is my baby’s father.”

I choked on my breath. No. It couldn’t be.

“I found out I was pregnant a week before he disappeared. I only learned about his death recently. We live above the supermarket.”

Her words hit me like a fist. My husband had lived a secret life. A life I knew nothing about.

I wanted to scream. To call her a liar. But then I saw the baby—James’ baby.

Desperation lined her face. “I thought selling the flowers might help. I’m sorry.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Keep them. Just take care of him.”

For nights, I lay awake, anger and sorrow warring inside me. But one thought wouldn’t leave me—her child was innocent in all of this.

I found myself driving to her apartment above the supermarket. The peeling paint and cracked windows made my stomach turn.

Inside the store, I filled a cart with groceries and a stuffed bear.

She answered the door, shock flashing across her face.

“I don’t want anything,” I said quickly. “But I thought… you might need help. For him.”

Tears filled her eyes. The baby lay on a blanket, gnawing a teething ring. He looked up at me with James’ eyes.

Setting the groceries down, something inside me loosened.

“My name is Rhiannon,” I said, voice shaking. “What’s his name?”

She hesitated. “Elliot. And I’m Pearl.”

I knelt beside him. “Hi, Elliot.”

He blinked up at me, and for the first time in two years, the weight in my chest lifted—just a little.

I didn’t know what this meant.

But I knew neither of us could do this alone.