The file noted the gestational age: 31 weeks. Johnny felt the air leave his lungs. If the baby was seven months along, the math worked perfectly. The child was his.
He ran out of the house and drove like a madman to Pete’s place. He found his “friend” on the porch, already halfway through a six-pack. Johnny pinned him against the siding and demanded the truth.
Pete just smirked, his eyes glassy. But Pete’s mother heard the commotion and came running out. Terrified of what Johnny might do, she broke down in tears and grabbed Johnny’s arm.
She confessed that Annie had been a saint. She told Johnny that Pete had made up the stories out of spite. It turned out Pete had tried to move in on Annie while Johnny was in the Army, thinking he could take advantage of her loneliness.
But Annie had shut him down hard, even threatening him with a tire iron if he didn’t leave her alone. Pete started laughing then, a high, hysterical sound. He yelled that if he couldn’t have her, no one should.
He admitted he wanted to destroy what they had because he was jealous of the way she looked at Johnny. He called her a fool for waiting for a guy who would believe a lie so easily.
Johnny didn’t stay to hear the rest. He was already back in his truck, racing toward the next valley. He had one goal: find Annie and beg for a forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.
But he was too late. Annie’s aunt met him at the door with a look of pure ice. She told him Annie had taken the baby and left for the city to find work. She didn’t leave a forwarding address.
The aunt slammed the door in his face. Johnny spent the next few months searching, but Annie had vanished into the world…
