"I dropped my coffee cup. It shattered on the sidewalk, but I couldn't move. Across the street, my dead husband was holding a little girl's hand. She called him "Daddy." He looked up. Our eyes met. And he walked away like he'd never seen me before. My name is Claire. I spent three years in therapy learning to accept that my husband drowned. I spread his ashes in the ocean. I wore black for a year. I finally started dating again. And now I'm watching him buy ice cream for a child who isn't mine. James died five years ago. That's what everyone told me."