At My Mother’s Funeral, a Woman Slipped a Baby Into My Arms and Said, ‘She Wanted You to Have Him’

The porch light was still on, even though it was midday. My mother’s green raincoat dangled crooked on its hook. I sat there, staring at it, until my phone vibrated in my lap.

I barely remembered the flight.

“Are you coming in, Nadia?” Aunt Karen’s voice crackled through the screen, sharp, even when trying to sound gentle.

I pushed the door open and stepped onto the path, suitcase bumping behind me. The air smelled like cut grass and someone else’s laundry detergent. I paused in the doorway, fighting the urge to call out for my mom again.

Aunt Karen met me inside, already moving fast. She held out lemon bars with a tight smile.