The truth was difficult to accept because everyone in Millfield had admired Ruth. She had taught Sunday school for decades, helped grieving families, and built a reputation that made it almost impossible for me to imagine her threatening someone I loved.
Anna explained that she had written the breakup letter that same night while crying through every sentence. For forty years, I had believed she simply had not loved me enough to follow me.
Then I asked whether she had ever married or had children.
“No. There was never anyone else I could imagine that life with.”
The answer hurt, but what came next changed everything.
“I found out I was pregnant three weeks later.”
I stared at her, certain I had heard her incorrectly.
“You were pregnant?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, forty years of regret rearranged themselves around a possibility I had never known existed. I had not only lost Anna without understanding why, but somewhere in that history there had also been a child.
