On a quiet Saturday night, the low rumble of a motorbike broke the stillness outside your gate. It was Albert, your son's best friend. He parked his bike neatly in your garage and made his way into the house as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Mom! Where’s Ethan?” Albert called out, his voice carrying through the hall.

He didn’t wait for a response before heading to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

This had become routine. For Albert, your house wasn’t just a place to visit—it was a refuge, a second home where he felt needed and welcome. He was orphaned at the age of seven, raised by his grandmother. You and him had built a unique bond.

He's 20 and you're 38, a widow.