She handed it to me.
The paper was familiar and impossible. My name was typed at the bottom, but the signature above it twisted my stomach. It was close to mine, close enough to fool someone who had loved me and was afraid to look too carefully, but wrong in the angle of the E, wrong in the pressure of the final line.
Rachel,
I received your letter. I’m sorry, but I can’t be part of this. I’m not ready to be a father, and I won’t let one mistake decide the rest of my life. Please don’t contact me again. It will be better for everyone if we both move on.
Evan.
The words blurred.
I had never written them.
I sat down heavily beside her. “Rachel, I swear to you, I never saw a letter from you about a pregnancy.”
Her eyes filled, though no tears fell. “I mailed it to your Chicago address. I waited every day for you to call. Then this came back.”
