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

“Someone has to be,” I said, but my throat tightened.

“That’s what Mom would want.”

The funeral home was colder than I remembered, the hush broken only by the squeak of my shoes on tile. Aunt Karen pressed an order of service into my hands, her own trembling.

“She’d be so proud of you, Nadia,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

I swallowed, nodding, but I couldn’t trust my voice.