“What do I do, Anne?” I asked, gazing down at her. She blinked up at me, unaware of the decision I faced.
“I can’t just leave it. What if it’s a trap?” I mumbled, torn between fear and need.
In response, Anne gurgled, grasping a loose thread on my jacket. I sighed, staring at the money and the stroller. “Okay… I’ll take it.”
The days that followed were surreal. “Can you believe this, Anne?” I said, dressing her in a cozy new onesie. “No more hand-me-downs.”
I called my landlord. “Yes, the rent is paid. I’m moving.”
Then I called the collection agency. “Paid off. Yes, everything.”
A week later, life settled into a strange normalcy. The burden of debt lifted, Anne cooed in her new crib, and I felt a sense of relief.
Then the letter arrived.
As I sorted through the mail, my heart sank at the familiar handwriting. I tore it open, already fearing the worst.
“I know you took the money,” it began, hitting me like a punch.
I froze. She had found me. As I read on, my heart raced.
“But I also know your identity, and I know the father of your child. He’s not who you think. I was his wife.”
“What?” I whispered, stunned. Had that woman been married to him?
The letter continued, detailing how he had abandoned both of us. The money I found was his—a form of retribution from her.
Realization washed over me. She hadn’t just been a wealthy stranger; she had suffered as I had.
Sinking into a chair, I murmured, “All this time… it was him.” He wasn’t just an irresponsible father; he was something darker.
I picked up the letter, reading the final line: “He doesn’t know it yet, but we are both free now. Take care of your daughter and good luck.”
A genuine smile spread across my face for the first time in months. I no longer felt fear. He had no idea what was coming.
As I looked at Anne, sleeping peacefully, I whispered, “He will never harm us again. Not now.”