A Smiling Man | Source: Midjourney

Sometimes I’d stand in the kitchen doorway, just watching them build Lego towers on the living room floor, and think, “That’s it. That’s it.”

Then came that rainy Tuesday in April.

I was chopping vegetables for dinner when my phone rang. Our 7-year-old son, Benny, was coloring at the kitchen table, humming to himself.

“Ms. Tiana?” An unfamiliar voice called out. “This is Officer Ramirez with the County Police Department.”

My hand froze mid-slice.

“There’s been an accident.”

A scared woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

The knife crashed to the floor. Benny looked up, pencil hovering over the paper.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

How do you tell your child his dad isn’t coming home? That Dad was rushing to get to movie night, took a turn too fast, and now he’s gone forever?

“Your dad…” I knelt beside him, my voice breaking. “Your dad was in an accident.”

His little face crumpled. “But he promised we’d go see the new superhero movie tonight.”

“I know, baby,” I whispered, pulling him close. “I know he did it.”

A Sad Boy | Source: Midjourney

The funeral was a blur of black clothes and hollow condolences. My mother-in-law, Doris, stood on the other side of the grave, her face frozen. She never approved of me.

After the last mourners left, she approached, her steps measured on the cemetery grass.

“You know, if he hadn’t raced home for you two, he’d still be alive.”

The words hit like slaps. Benny squeezed my hand tighter.

An angry old woman in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney

“It’s not fair, Doris,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “He loved us.”

“And look where it got him.” She glanced at Benny, then back at me. “We don’t want you home anymore. You’ve taken enough from this family.”

Three days later, we packed our things. Zach’s dad watched silently from the doorway as I folded Benny’s clothes into a suitcase.

“Grandpa, where are we going to go?” Benny asked, clutching his favorite teddy bear—a gift from Zach.

His grandfather turned away without answering.

A Grieving Woman | Source: Midjourney

“We’ll find our own place,” I told Benny, forcing a smile. “Just you and me, buddy.”

The cabin we found was small but clean, with a tiny yard where Benny could play. The rent ate up half my waitressing salary, but watching my son chase butterflies in the scattered grass made it worth it.

I worked overtime when I could. Night after night, I’d come home with aching feet to find Benny asleep on the couch, waiting for me. I’d carry him to bed, careful not to wake him, then collapse next to him, too exhausted to cry.

A Boy Sleeping Soundly | Source: Midjourney

Three months after Zach’s death, I saw Doris.

I was leaving the discount grocery store, calculating if I had enough money to pay Benny’s electric bill and school supplies, when a shiny black car pulled into the luxury parking spot.

The door opened and Doris stepped out—draped in what appeared to be a designer coat, giant sunglasses perched on her nose, and shopping bags from high-end stores dangling from her wrist.

I almost dropped my groceries. The woman who had spent 20 years as a cashier, carefully counting other people’s money, now looked like she’d stepped out of a glossy magazine.

A woman standing by a fancy car | Source: Midjourney

Before I could think, I walked over to her.

“Doris?”

She froze when she saw me, then calmed down.

“Where did you get the money for all this?” I gestured toward her car and clothes. “You never had any of this when Zach was alive. You… you’re a cashier. How could you afford all this?”

Her eyes narrowed behind her expensive sunglasses. “Fine… it’s none of your business!” she snapped, brushing past me and slamming her car door.

As she sped off, I stood in a cloud of exhaust fumes, suspicion gnawing at me.

A woman looks at a car | Source: Midjourney

“That was Grandma, wasn’t she?” Benny asks, tugging at my sleeve. “Why doesn’t she want to see us anymore?”

I looked at my son’s confused face and forced a smile. “Some people just don’t know how to handle sadness, honey.”

The Rusty Nail Bar wasn’t my first choice of job, but the tips were good and the late hours meant I was still there when Benny got home from school.

One Tuesday night, I was wiping tables when the weight of missing Zach pressed against my chest like a boulder I could never roll away.

A neon sign | Source: Unsplash

I pulled his photo out of my wallet—the one from our anniversary trip to the lake. He was laughing, the sunlight catching on his hair.

“Hey, I know this guy.”

I looked up to see Max, the bartender, leaning over my shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he used to come over every now and then. Wait…” His eyes widened. “You’re his wife, right? Tiana, right? He was always talking about you.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Really?”

A bartender making a drink | Source: Freepik

Max nodded, sliding into the booth opposite me. “He was so proud of you and your kid… he always showed us pictures.” His face turned serious. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” I said, putting the picture away.

“So, you got the money from his mom?”

I stared at him. “What money?”

Max’s expression changed from sympathy to confusion. “Cash. Zach’s savings. He kept it at his mom’s… He said something about not accounting for it because of old debts.” He moved closer. “He must have had close to a hundred thousand dollars stashed there over the years.”

A stunned woman | Source: Midjourney