Mary wasn't sure she could do this. She'd been assigned to cover a major story. Last night, there was a horrific car crash, and a man died. Mary was interviewing the man's widow. She'd read that the man also left behind a young son. The story was beyond tragic. Mary had tried to get out of doing this report, but her boss insisted, saying that she was the only one who had the compassion to actually talk to this woman. But now that she was here, she wasn't so sure.

Things were much easier back at WJM. A hot story then meant a local teacher's strike, or the birth of a new animal at the zoo. Nothing like this. Even though those years had had their ups and downs, Mary longed for them again. But she reminded herself that part of her life was over. What mattered now was the present. She understood that covering this would mean huge ratings. That was something else she'd never had at WJM. I can do this, she told herself.

"Are we doing this story, or not?" a young cameraman asked. "We can't wait all day."

"Right," Mary replied. She looked over at the widow. The woman was obviously in tears. Was it even right to put her through this?

"It's a shame, I feel for the poor lady," the cameraman said, following Mary's gaze.

After a few minutes of watching the woman, Mary realized this wasn't going to get easier. She would just have to bite the bullet, so to speak. She walked over to where the widow sat, drying her eyes with a handkerchief. "Mrs Warren?"

The woman looked up. Mary made a point to smile, though it had no effect. "I know this is difficult," Mary said, "But we'd like to get your side of the story on tape. The accident happened so late at night, there weren't many eyewitnesses."

Mrs. Warren nodded. People had been asking her questions nonstop since the accident. It was like no one realized her husband was gone. The details of the crash didn't matter, at least not to her. "Well, I'll do my best to answer, not that I know much."

"Good. That's all we can expect," Mary said, feeling a small sense of relief. She sat down, and looked at the camera. The young man nodded at her, signaling that they were recording. "OK, now, Mrs. Warren, what happened last night, as far as you know?"

"Well, I don't know much," Mrs. Warren said. "My husband was working late. He does that sometimes. Brian, that's my ten-year-old son, and I were in bed. All of a sudden the phone was ringing. I knew right away it was bad news. Why else would someone be calling at three a.m.? It was the hospital. Apparently Robert's car hit a guardrail. They...they couldn't save him."

Hearing the woman's words, and seeing her face, Mary immediately wished she hadn't asked the question. "I'm so sorry," was all she could say. She knew it wasn't going to help at all.

"It's so hard to believe he's gone. Not just for me, but for Brian. He loved his dad. Now what are we supposed to do? How do we go on? It feels like a wound that'll never heal. I just want to curl up into a ball. I can't..." The poor woman's voice broke. She was now crying too hard to speak.

Suddenly, Mary remembered something. She'd once been in this very position. Perhaps her experience might help. "I don't know what it's like to lose a husband, but I can imagine it's awful," she said, reaching out to cover the other woman's hand with her own. "I do know what you're going through, though."

"Everyone says that, but I don't think they mean it," Mrs. Warren said, once again wiping her eyes.

"When I first started out in the news business, I worked at a little TV station in Minneapolis, WJM. You've probably never heard of it. We were at the bottom of the ratings all the time. We barely got any awards or recognition. But we worked hard. My co-workers and I became very close. We were a family, or at least that's what I thought. There were good times, and there were bad times. But we went through it all together. And then, all of a sudden, we were all fired."

Mrs. Warren looked at Mary blankly. How was this supposed to help?

Mary could see that she wasn't getting through. "When we all lost our jobs, I felt just like you do now. Devastated and scared. I had no job, and the people I loved and needed the most in the world weren't there."

Suddenly, it seemed that the widow was beginning to understand. "How...how did you go on? I don't see how I can."

Now Mary smiled. "My best friend, Rhoda, finally snapped me out of it. I must have called her in tears a hundred times. Then one day, about a month later, she said to me, 'Kid, you can't cry forever. You've got to go out there and find another job.' I thought Rhoda was crazy. I had no idea how I could do that, or if anyone would even want to hire me, since I barely had experience to speak of. But Rhoda wouldn't listen. She can be stubborn, in a good way. It took some time, but I realized she was right. I got back on my feet eventually. Now I'm working at a station where I get to do stories I never even dreamed of at WJM. I've won a couple of major awards. My life is good now."

"So, that's it?" Mrs. Warren asked. "You just got over it?"

"I don't know that I'd say 'over it.' There are still days when I'd kill to go back in time. Sure, we all keep in touch, but it isn't the same. It never will be. But if I hadn't been fired, I wouldn't be where I am today. Your life isn't over, it's just different now."

"I don't think I'm that strong...not like you...I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Mary Richards." Mary shook the woman's hand. "I didn't know I had it in me to go on, either, till I had to. You'd be surprised at what you can handle when you have no other choice. Your son's already lost his father. Don't make him lose his mother, too. You just go on, one day at a time. It gets easier, little by little."

"Thank you, Mary." Mrs. Warren smiled, for the first time since the interview started. "What you've said makes sense. Brian's all I have now. I have to get through this, for him."

On impulse, Mary hugged this virtual stranger. As she did, a thought came to her. She was actually grateful she'd done this interview. Losing her job at WJM was something she tried hard not to think about. Her life was so busy now, she never had much time to dwell on it. She heard a sound from the cameraman. For a moment, she'd forgotten this was even being filmed. Luckily, she was able to quickly ad-lib a closing and end the segment.

Mary knew she had to get back to the newsroom. There were always a thousand things she needed to do. She began to leave, but not before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you again, Mary," Mrs. Warren said. "You're the first person I've spoken to who even tries to understand."

"It was my pleasure. You and your son hang in there, OK?" she hugged the woman one more time.

Moments later, Mary sat in her car, about to drive back to the station. But before putting the car into drive, she decided there was something she had to do first. She reached into her purse and found her cellphone. It didn't take long to go through her contacts and find the number she wanted. The line rang, and a machine picked up. A familiar New York accent told her, "This is the Morgenstern residence. Leave a message, unless you're a telemarketer. In that case, just forget it!"

You're still the same Rhoda, she thought with a smile. She and Rhoda hadn't spoken in months. Life had pulled them in different directions, but maybe it was time to change that. "Rhoda...it's Mary. I just wanted to say thanks. When I left WJM, I didn't know how I could go on, or even if I could. But you always know just what to say. Call me back when you get a chance. I miss you." She ended the call and sat there, still amazed at what had just happened. I'm so lucky, she thought as she finally drove off. She just hoped Mrs. Warren would be able to say that one day.

The End