The Stranger Beside Daniel’s Stone

Margaret Hale had not visited her son's grave at sunset before.
Morning was safer. Morning made grief look organized. She could bring white lilies, brush damp grass from the carved name, stand for seven minutes, and leave before anyone saw what the loss had done to her.
But that evening, the house had become too quiet.
So she drove to Oakridge Cemetery with lilies on the passenger seat and Daniel's old key ring in her coat pocket.
She expected the stone to be waiting alone beneath the oak trees.
It was not.
A young woman sat in the grass beside it, wrapped in a pale coat, shoulders shaking. In her arms was a newborn bundled in a cream blanket so small Margaret first thought it was a folded towel.
Then the baby moved.
Margaret stopped between two graves, the lilies lowering in her hand.
The young woman looked up with red eyes and held the child tighter.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I only wanted him to meet her."
Margaret's breath caught before she understood why.