Her eyes darted to mine. “You’re Michael’s wife?”

I hesitated. “I was. He passed away… almost three years ago.”

She inhaled sharply. “Then you should know… this is his son.”

My gaze shifted to the boy. He looked about six, his small face framed by hair that refused to stay down. I searched for something familiar — a tilt of the chin, a spark in the eyes — but my own pulse was pounding too loudly to tell.

Before I could process, her tone hardened. “We need to talk about his share of the estate.”

I blinked at her, stunned. “His what?”

“His half,” she said, as if the words were simple math.

That was