It was the proudest day of my life. My son, Daniel, was graduating college with honors. I sat in the second row of the auditorium, clutching the program and holding back tears. Years of hard work—late-night study sessions, internships, and stress—had all led to this moment. My child had made it. He’d done it. But the seat beside me was empty. My husband, Mark, had been gone for three years. Moments like these made his absence feel especially real.
“You’d be so proud of him, Mark,” I whispered quietly.
The ceremony continued with speeches about dreams and futures, but my eyes stayed on the stage, waiting to see Daniel walk across and receive his diploma.
Then I noticed her.
A young woman, standing near the stage curtains, holding a blanket close to her chest. Something about her looked uneasy. The blue blanket shifted gently. There was a baby inside. I thought maybe it was a relative she had brought along. But as I watched, it became clear it was something more.
Her gaze found mine, and she slowly walked toward me, never breaking eye contact. When she reached me, she placed the baby gently into my arms.
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