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“Did I know what?”
“Don’t act stupid, Samantha. You know what? Did you know you were pregnant when you chose to leave me?”
She nods.
“And you didn’t think to tell me? To let me be a part of it? Instead, you ran from me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Were you kidnapped? Held hostage? Did someone hold a gun to your head and threaten you not to tell me?” I ask sarcastically.
I watch Samantha’s shoulders tighten as she straightens up in her seat. Her eyes flash angrily. “No. You didn’t deserve to fucking know! And I couldn’t come home to my father barefoot and pregnant.”
“I didn’t deserve to know? I’m her father. Of course, I deserved to know!” I yell, shocked that she would say that.
Samantha jolts at my raised voice, fear filling her eyes. I don’t have the patience to consider why she’s afraid. I just keep going.
“I would have taken care of you. Of our daughter. You had to know that. It wouldn’t have mattered that I couldn’t compete anymore. I would have found a way.” I tell her, figuring she was mad I wasn’t rolling in money like we always thought I would be.
“You think this is about money?” She laughs. “Of course you do. If this were about money, I’d have taken you to court for support payments. It was about you. About how you fucking betrayed me in the worst possible way.” She seethes.
“I never betrayed you.” I hiss through gritted teeth.
“Don’t make me out to be stupid now, when you just admitted to the opposite. I fucking know what I saw.” She screams.
“You’re not making sense, Samantha. What do you think you saw?” I ask, genuinely confused.
I stand and pace a few steps while Samantha pulls a small phone from her back pocket. It’s familiar. It’s the same phone I bought her when we were dating so that her dad wouldn’t find out about our late-night calls and text messages.
She looks at me with trepidation in her gaze and then tosses the phone. I grab it out of the air. It’s unlocked, and I’m not sure what she wants me to see. The screen is blank but for a small icon that represents a video.
“Play it.” She tells me.
I hit the button. At first, all I see is the floor of the barn, but I can hear the grunts coming from somewhere. It’s clearly my voice. Did someone film me and Samantha together? When the female voice cries out, I drop to the sofa, my legs unable to hold my weight.
“No,” I whisper. “Who sent this to you? This isn’t real.” I claim. Then I hear the sobs of the person recording. I heard those same sobs several times over the years on the anniversary of Samantha’s mother’s passing.
“I recorded it. It’s real.” Samantha whispers. “I saw you with my own eyes. You sat there on that sofa and fucked the girl that was supposed to be my best friend. So I did the only thing I could, and I ran away.”
“Why didn’t you confront me?” I ask.
“I couldn’t face you. And I couldn’t tell anyone what happened. Even though you hurt me, I couldn’t do the same to you. And we both know that if my dad found out, he’d have kicked you off the ranch with nothing.” She explains.
With a shaky breath, Samantha continues, “I didn’t come home because I couldn’t face Dad’s disappointment in me when he learned I was pregnant and I couldn’t be around you.”
“So you went through all of that alone?” I ask her. There’s nothing else for me to say because after seeing this video, she is right. I don’t deserve to even breathe near my daughter. But I don’t remember any of it. All I remember is being told that Samantha was gone and losing my mind after.
“I had my aunt. She was there with me for everything. Until she died, that is.”
“Yet you still didn’t come home,” I state.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why couldn’t you? Your dad would have been fine. He would have let you live here with him. He would have loved Dakota?” I asked all these questions while looking at her.
She tensed. Her shoulders bunch up near her ears. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Fine. Don’t talk about it. Just tell me this. Where do we go from here?”
