“Mommy, is my tie okay?” Jacob asked, his voice small. He touched his chest with a hand that still held the dimpled softness of toddlerhood.

“It’s perfect, Jacob. You look very handsome,” I said, crouching down to smooth his collar. I kissed his cheek, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and innocence. Since losing my husband, Michael, in a car accident three years ago, this boy had been my anchor, my compass, and my entire world.

Technically, I had other family. My mother, Margaret, and my sister, Sophia, were waiting inside. But in the three grueling years since Michael’s death, I had learned a painful, jagged truth: blood ties and heart connections are rarely the same thing.