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

“Which grandchild?”

Her smile faltered.

Derek frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I opened the door just enough for them to see my lawyer seated at my dining table, three folders in front of her, a silver pen, and a face carved from stone.

“It means,” I said quietly, “you should have been kinder in the rain.”….