My husband had been in his coffin only a few hours when my mother-in-law demanded our house keys. “Pack your bags, incubator,” she sneered, tossing a f3ke paternity test onto the coffin. “My son’s millions belong to his real family.” My husband’s lawyer entered with a projector. Then my husband’s face appeared on screen, and his first sentence made my mother-in-law collapse.

Five years later, I took my son to the cemetery where his father rested. He held my hand and carried a bouquet of white flowers.

“Was Dad brave?” he asked me.

I looked at the gravestone and smiled through tears.

“Very brave. But more than that, he loved you.”

My son placed the flowers on the grave and rested his small hand on the marble.

“Thank you for taking care of us, Dad,” he whispered.