I know it’s too early, but I think I feel the baby moving inside me. Feel the little swell of my belly. Ever since that night, I swear I’ve felt it. Him. It’ll be a boy. I know that too.

Sergio won’t see my belly swell as his baby grows. He won’t be there when his son comes into the world. Won’t get to hold him. I wonder if he’ll look like Sergio. In a way, I hope he doesn’t because I think it will break my heart over and over again and I’m not strong enough for that.

The house is silent. All the lights are out except for the one over the stove in the kitchen. Standing at the study door, I take a deep breath in, because there’s something I have to do. Something I have to finish.

I set my hand on the doorknob and turn it, hear the creak as I push the door open.

Instantly, I am overwhelmed by memories of him. By the scent of him. His aftershave. His whiskey. Overwhelmed by the weight of the life he carried. The shadow that clung to him, that kept him in its clutches. I remember all those moments when I’d felt that strange sensation that he wouldn’t be with me for long. That he was a ghost. That this thing would claim him. I’d pushed those thoughts away then. They were too terrible to deal with. But the reality, it’s worse because it’s just that—real. And final.

The skin around my eyes is wet again, but I ignore it and walk inside, partially closing the door behind me. Make my way to the desk from memory. Switch on the lamp. His chair is pushed out like he just got up from it. I touch it, the leather cool but soft and worn and comfortable as I sink into it.

The tumbler he last drank from still sits on the desk. The half-empty bottle beside it. I wrap my hand around the heavy crystal glass and bring it to me. To my nose. I inhale. I remember. And tears slide down my face and into the glass and I bring it to my lips and drink the last swallow of whiskey and the choking sound that comes, it’s my own. It’s my grief and I can’t swallow, my throat closes up. I want to throw up. But I don’t remember the last time I ate. I have to eat for the baby. I know.

I force a deep breath. Feel myself shudder with it. Feel the whiskey burn when it does, finally, go down. It reinforces me and I steel my spine because I have work to do.