It happened on a Friday evening while they were working on Johnny’s old truck. Pete had volunteered to help swap out the transmission, a heavy job that required two sets of hands.
After they finished, they sat on the tailgate to cool off with a couple of beers. Annie and the newborn had been home for about a week. For some reason, Annie had always been a bit cold toward Pete, a fact Johnny had noticed but never questioned.
Wanting to keep the peace, Johnny had suggested they have their drinks out in the garage. It was a typical guy moment—grease on their hands, the smell of motor oil in the air, and a quiet conversation.
After the second beer, Pete cast his line. He asked Johnny how it felt to finally be a father.
Johnny smiled, admitting he was still getting used to it. He confessed that the baby seemed so fragile he was almost afraid to hold him. He was a proud, if nervous, new dad.
Pete just gave a short, cynical laugh. He remarked that all babies look the same when they’re that small. Then he added, with a sharp edge to his voice, that it didn’t really matter if they belonged to the husband or someone else.
The comment made Johnny freeze. He reached for another beer, his muscles tensing. Pete didn’t stop; he kept twisting the knife.
He asked if Johnny really planned on putting his name on the birth certificate. That was the breaking point. Johnny stood up abruptly and grabbed Pete by the collar of his work shirt.
He demanded Pete stop talking in circles and say exactly what he meant. Pete, struggling against Johnny’s grip, finally spat out his ugly story.
He described in detail how Annie had supposedly been seen out at bars in the next county while Johnny was deployed. He claimed she was often seen coming home in the early hours of the morning, looking a little too happy for a woman whose husband was in a war zone.
According to Pete, the whole town knew. He stepped back toward his own car, throwing out one last insult: that only a fool would raise another man’s mistake.
Johnny felt a wave of pure, unadulterated rage. He slammed his fist onto the workbench. Blinded by anger, he demanded to know the names of the men Pete was talking about…
