After my husband’s funeral, I whispered, “My water just broke.” His mother scoffed, “We’re grieving. Call a taxi yourself.”

Twelve days later, Vivian rang my doorbell.

She arrived in pearls, perfume, and entitlement. Derek stood behind her, holding a stuffed bear with the price tag still attached.

Vivian smiled as though the funeral had never happened.

“I’ve come to see my grandchild.”

I looked at her. Then at Derek. Then at the blinking security camera above my door.