That fatal night over three months ago seemed like yesterday. The knock on the door, the policeman standing on my porch at one a.m., the panic rising inside me at the grim look on his face. Mark had been late getting home from work. Nothing unusual there. My husband had been a workaholic. He’d apparently fallen asleep at the wheel and perished in a fiery crash. He’d only been a mile from home.

Ours had been a comfortable relationship, not a white-hot passion, not even in the beginning. He’d been a good provider, a great father, and a decent man. He’d treated me well. I had no complaints.

For three months, I’d struggled with my new reality. Now it was September. My six-year-old twins were in first grade, and I was a twenty-four-year-old single mother without a career. I needed to fight past my grief and devise a plan for my future and my children’s. It was time.

I’d struggled my entire life with a niggling doubt I’d never be good enough. I’d depended on Mark and his family to take care of me, while I’d done nothing to take care of myself or have personal security if the worst should happen. And the worst had happened.

I was the daughter of an alcoholic father who couldn’t hold down a job and a mother who went through men as quickly as she changed outfits. I’d been told my entire childhood that I was worthless and screwed up everything I touched. The summer after I’d graduated high school and gotten a full-ride academic scholarship, I’d found out I was pregnant and proven them right again.

For the next six-plus years, I’d concentrated on being the best wife and mother possible, and I’d pulled it off. Without Mark to depend on, those insecurities came flooding back.

Mark had a small life insurance policy, which covered our living expenses for about a year. The clock was ticking, and I’d wasted three months already. I needed a career plan, and I needed it yesterday.

Not knowing what else to do, I drove to my in-laws’ house. They’d become the parents I’d never had. Howard Mills had recently retired with intentions to move to a warmer Arizona. The only things holding them back were the kids and me.

Fran opened the door before I knocked and wrapped me in her arms for a warm hug. I hugged her back and squeezed my eyes shut to stem the tears that were so close to the surface every time I saw Mark’s parents.

Fran stood back and ushered me into her inviting house. Soon I was seated on the patio in the afternoon sun with a glass of wine in my hand.

“Where’s Howard?” I asked.

“Golfing. Where else?” Fran smiled kindly at me. These people had been my rock since Mark had died. They’d been there for me at every turn, and guilt rose inside me with the knowledge they were postponing their retirement plans because I was an emotional mess wandering without direction.