Chapter 4: Two Words from a Stranger
I sat in the driver's seat with my daughter in my arms and stared at the message.
The farm was fifty feet behind me.
I could still hear voices carrying across the yard — Adam's, his father's, one I couldn't identify.
I didn't look back.
My daughter made a small sound against my chest.
I pressed my lips to the top of her head and read the message again.
*We need to talk.*
I typed back: *Who gave you this number?*
Three dots appeared.
Then: *Adam.
A long time ago.
I've had it since before you were married.*
My hands were steady.
I noticed that and didn't know what to make of it.
*What do you want?* I typed.
*To tell you something he won't.
Not here.
Not today.
But you should know before you make any decisions.*
I looked up through the windshield.
The farm gate was still open.
I could see the edge of the reunion tables from where I sat, the white paper cloth moving in the breeze.
*Are you nearby?* I typed.
*No.
I'm three hours away.
I haven't been to that farm since February.*
February.
My daughter was born in March.
I buckled her into the car seat, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway without looking back at the house.
---
I drove to my sister's place.
Her name was Carol, and she lived forty minutes away in a yellow house with a garden she never had time to tend.
When I pulled up she was already on the porch, phone in hand.
Adam's mother had called her.
"Come inside," Carol said.
She didn't ask questions at the door.
She made tea I didn't drink and held the baby while I sat at her kitchen table and told her everything.
The pen.
The alarm.
The messages.
Diane.
Adam's father's face when he asked the question.
The two words from Renee.
Carol listened without interrupting.
That was the thing about Carol — she never interrupted.
She waited until you were completely finished and then she said the one thing you hadn't thought of yet.
"Has he called you?" she asked.
"Three times on the drive over.
I didn't answer."
"Texted?"
I checked my phone.
"Once.
He says I took his mother's phone without permission and he wants it back."
Carol looked at me over the rim of her mug.
"His mother handed it to you."
"I know."
"Are you going to call Renee back?"
I turned my phone over on the table.
"I don't know what she wants."
"She wants to tell you something he won't." Carol set her mug down.
"That's worth a conversation."
"Or it's a way to control what I know."
"Maybe both." She looked at the baby in her arms.
"But you're already sitting here with your newborn at your sister's house on a Sunday afternoon.
The damage is done.
You might as well know all of it."
I picked up my phone.
Renee answered on the second ring.
Her voice was quieter than I expected.
No drama in it.
Just tired.
"Thank you for calling," she said.
"Tell me what you need to tell me."
A pause.
"The baby isn't his.
I need you to know that first."
I said nothing.
"I know what those messages look like," she said.
"I know what Adam told you — or didn't tell you.
But the baby I'm carrying is not Adam's.
I've known for two months.
I told him six weeks ago."
"Then what did he mean by handling it?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"He meant the money," she said.
"He's been sending me money since January.
Not because of a baby.
Because of what I know about him."
Carol was watching my face.
I kept my voice level.
"What do you know about him?" I asked.
The pause before her answer was the longest yet.
"It's not something I can say on the phone," Renee said.
May you like
"But I have documents.
And I think you need to see them before he finds out I called you."
