“Yeah, you never know anything until it’s too late, Jodi.”
And after that, he said worse things—enough that, eventually, I started believing them.
By the third year, he had moved in with a woman named Amber, leaving me alone in the same silent house, Jennifer’s bedroom door still shut at the end of the hall.
We were still married on paper. I just never had the strength to finish what he had started.
And now… there was a baby in my kitchen.
Wearing my daughter’s jacket.
I set the basket carefully on the table and forced myself to move.
There was a diaper bag. Formula. Two sleepers. Wipes.
Whoever had left her hadn’t abandoned her carelessly—they had planned this.
The baby watched me with a serious expression, like a tiny judge.
I reached out and touched the jacket again. The left cuff was still frayed—Jennifer used to chew it when she was anxious.
My hand slipped into the pocket.
Paper.
My pulse roared in my ears, making me dizzy. I unfolded the note slowly, smoothing it out with trembling hands.
“Jodi,
My name is Andy. I know this is a terrible way to do this, but I don’t know what else to do.
