My husband had been in his coffin only a few hours when my mother-in-law demanded our house keys.

Fernanda stepped closer. Before I could move, she grabbed my left hand. Her nails pressed into my skin.

“And this doesn’t belong to you either.”

She yanked my wedding ring so hard that it scraped my finger. The ring dropped into her palm like a prize.

“Look at you,” Fernanda said, showing it to everyone. “A widow, poor, and pregnant with a bastard child.”

My legs trembled. I felt my son move inside me, as if even he could hear their cruelty.