the year before Adam died. It was unexpected, to say the least. I was living into societal expectations. Yet there she was, announcing her pregnancy with theatrical tears and declarations about the miracle of life.
I felt the familiar sting of jealousy. After all our struggles, all our heartbreak, Cassandra had accidentally achieved what we had desperately wanted. But I pushed those feelings down. I was genuinely happy for her, and I was determined to be the best aunt possible to her child.
Lucas was born a healthy 8 lbs 4 oz. I was at the hospital with flowers and a handmade blanket I had spent months knitting. Cassandra seemed overwhelmed by motherhood from the start, often calling me in tears about Lucas’s colic or her exhaustion. I stepped in as much as I could, sometimes watching Lucas overnight so she could sleep.
Adam was less involved with Lucas than I was. In retrospect, I thought it was because of our own infertility struggles, that it might be painful for him to bond with a baby that was not ours. He was always kind when Cassandra brought Lucas over, but he maintained a certain distance that I never questioned at the time.
Then came that terrible Tuesday morning. Adam complained of a headache before leaving for work. I suggested he stay home, but he had an important client meeting. «Just a migraine,» he insisted, kissing me goodbye. «I will call you after the meeting.»
That call never came. Instead, I got one from the hospital. By the time I arrived, he was already gone. Brain aneurysm, they said. Nothing could have been done. He was 36 years old.
The next days passed in a blur of arrangements and grief. Cassandra was strangely absent during most of it, sending text messages claiming Lucas was sick or she could not find a babysitter. When she did appear at the funeral, she stayed briefly, keeping to herself and leaving before the reception. I was too numb with grief to think much of it at the time.
One week after we laid Adam to rest, Lucas’s first birthday arrived. The last thing I wanted to do was attend a children’s birthday party, but family obligations pulled at me. «Adam would want you to go,» my mother insisted during one of her daily check-in calls. «He always said, family comes first.»
So I found myself driving to Cassandra’s small rental house in a less desirable part of town, a wrapped gift on the passenger seat and dark circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. I had barely slept since Adam died, spending nights staring at his empty side of the bed, reaching for a warmth that was no longer there.
I parked behind a line of cars and took several deep breaths before grabbing the gift and heading inside. No one should have to fake happiness so soon after losing their husband, I thought. But I plastered on a smile and knocked on the door.
Cassandra’s friend Jenna opened, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of me. «Oh Bridget, you made it,» she said, her voice oddly strained. She glanced over her shoulder before stepping aside. «Come in. Everyone is in the backyard.»
