EVERY YEAR THERE IS ONE SUNDAY THAT SEEMS TO HAVE SPECIAL MEANING. FOR MANY IT TRULY IS. FOR SOME IT IS NOT. FOR A FEW IT SHOULD BE A TORMENTED DAY. FOR THE ASPIRING BLACK WIDOW, WHEN IT SITS AT A TABLE TRYING TO ENJOY THE HONOR OF THAT DAY, IT SHOULD REMEMBER THAT THERE ARE THREE EMPTY CHAIRS. THREE EMPTY CRIBS. THREE WHO WHISPER IN THE EAR FROM THE SHOULDER, “WE ARE WAITING FOR YOU.”