In a dozen states, Cabrera would be considered a common-law wife. But New York is not among them. Nonetheless, for the past decade, Cabrera says she had thought of herself as Checo’s spouse. And no one had questioned her–until September 11.

Since then, the absence of a marriage certificate has meant piles of paperwork, mounting bills and many sleepless nights for Cabrera. Most worrisome, she’s learned that she doesn’t qualify for assistance from the federal September 11 Victim Compensation Fund under the current interim rules. “I’m a victim just like everybody else who lost someone. We have bills like everybody else,” says Cabrera. “Just because we didn’t take that final step, it doesn’t mean we weren’t a family.”

But under the Victim Compensation Fund’s current rules, which are being enforced while the final guidelines are developed, same-sex partners, fiancés and common-law spouses in those states where it is not recognized do not qualify for the funds. The only financial aid extended to domestic partners (a term that includes both common-law spouses and same-sex partners) of September 11 victims has come from charities, such as the Red Cross, and the New York State Crime Victim Compensation Fund.

Now, calls for changes to the federal fund rules are coming from politicians, lawyers and various supporters of victims’ partners. New York’s Attorney General Eliot Spitzer says the fund’s current rules are “unduly restrictive” and suggests that special master Kenneth Feinberg, who oversees the fund, should have used financial dependency as the definition–rather than family ties. Others, like New York Sen. Charles Schumer, have urged Feinberg to expand the fund to include all partners: same-sex, fiancés and common-law spouses of those lost in the terrorist attack.

The comment period on the fund’s interim regulations ended last month, though letters are still coming in, says Charles Miller, a Justice Department spokesman. The final regulations could be announced as early as next week. He declined to comment on possible changes, but said Feinberg has received a number of requests that domestic partners be made eligible for federal aid.

Under the current rules, Checo and Cabrera’s two sons will be entitled to collect from the fund, according to Helen Macfarlane, a lawyer at Shearman & Sterling in Manhattan who is providing Cabrera with free legal aid. But Macfarlane says any money Cabrera spends for their benefit would be closely monitored by a court, and she would have little control over how it is spent. “She really is falling through every single crack possible, and it’s just not fair,” she adds.

TWICE BITTEN, ONCE SHY

Marmily first met Checo in 1988 at a college party at the College of Mount St. Vincent in the Bronx, N.Y. They flirted but she didn’t see him again until two years later when their best friends from college got married. This time, Checo made sure he didn’t lose track of her. Though she was then living in Florida, they began a long-distance romance. After two months of sky-high phone bills, he sent her a plane ticket to New York–one-way. She flew up to see him at the end of 1990, and never went back.

In 1995, they had a son, Jasen. At the end of 2000, they had their second: Julian. Cabrera carries an envelope of photos with her. There is one of the family standing in front of the flamingo exhibit at the Bronx Zoo last August. She is smiling and cradling their baby in her arms; Checo’s arm is wrapped protectively around her, and their older son is tucked between them. It is one of the last photographs she has of the family together. There is another photo of her with Checo; they are sitting together on a swing in her sister’s backyard laughing. It was taken a few nights before Checo died.

On the morning of September 11, Checo left a message with Cabrera’s supervisor at Apple Bank in Manhasset, N.Y., where she works as a teller, asking that “Millie”–as she’s known–have him paged at the office. Checo worked on the 96th floor of Tower 2. He had survived the plane crashing into his building. But not long after his phone call, his building collapsed.

Cabrera tried frantically to reach him. When she finally got home three hours later, there were phone messages from some of his colleagues. He’d been spotted last on the 78th floor. A friend said he had gone back upstairs, after an announcement that it was safe to do so. Checo had worked at Fiduciary for 15 years and had lived through the 1993 bombing. “He assumed the building wouldn’t fall,” says Cabrera, as tears stream down her cheeks. “He thought he was in the safest place.”

She still held out hope that he had somehow survived. Many of the 500 employees at Fiduciary had escaped. But as the days passed, her hope diminished. She finally went to the family assistance center at Pier 94 in Manhattan, where she was asked to produce a marriage certificate. “Right up until that moment,” she says, “I thought I was a wife.”

‘I’M FIGHTING FOR WHAT IS RIGHT’

In the months since, she has been reminded time and time again that, under New York law, she is not. Checo, 35, was the family’s main breadwinner, earning more than $70,000 a year as a vice president of investment operations for Fiduciary Trust. But the company says his insurance and pension files, which she says listed her as a beneficiary, were lost when the tower collapsed on September 11. Fiduciary Trust spokesperson Lisa Gallegos confirmed that the personal records kept in World Trade Center office were destroyed, and many (like Checo’s) had not yet been backed up. The company was in the process of doing so at the time of the attacks.

Macfarlane says it is uncertain now whether Cabrera will receive any proceeds from his insurance or retirement benefits. Cabrera is earning less than a third of what Checo had made, after cutting her work schedule back a day so she could be home on Saturdays to care for their children. She and her sons no longer eat out much–even at Wendy’s, her older son’s favorite. She got rid of one of their cars, a classic Datsun.

Cabrera has received some financial aid from the Red Cross and other agencies to help cover her sons’ day-care expenses, her mortgage and other bills. But the charitable aid runs out in a month. And then, she says, she’s not sure what she is going to do. “Not only is she dealing with the emotional loss, but now their relationship is being denigrated,” says Macfarlane. “It is ridiculous for someone who has lived with a man for more than 10 years and built a family and a life with him. I understand this is New York, but it’s a federal fund.”

Nonetheless, as it stands now, the distribution of the federal Victim Compensation Fund will be guided by state law. Those who live in Pennsylvania or the District of Columbia, where common-law marriages are recognized, could be entitled to money, while those from New York, New Jersey and Connecticut would not, Macfarlane said.

It’s not clear how many people lost their common-law spouses in the terrorist attacks, but Cabrera is certainly not the only one. Sonia Rodriguez, who lived for many years with Walter A. McNeil, a Port Authority officer who was killed on September 11, recently failed in her court bid to be named his common-law wife, though she had been with him since the mid-1980s. That does not bode well for Cabrera, or others–both women and men–who have identified themselves as common-law spouses of victims.

Cabrera says she and Checo were very private people. “But after September 11, we’re not private anymore,” she adds. “If speaking out will make a difference for my kids’ lives, though, I won’t stay quiet. I’m fighting for what is right.”