“Yes, it did mean something.” I stop on the tenth or eleventh step and turn to look down at him.

“Then wouldn’t you say this qualifies as some sort of test?”

“A test given by whom?”

“I don’t want to say it, but I’ll say it: God.”

I was about to turn to keep walking until I heard the word “God.” I don’t play when it comes to Him. And as much as I hate to admit it, what George has said is true. Reverend Mitchell has given us so many examples of things people have done that hurt others so deeply, but he says that God gave us the capacity to forgive. Wants us to forgive. But I don’t know how right now. I don’t feel like forgiving him. I don’t think forgiving him will make me feel any better. And what about Shanice? Is she supposed to forgive him, too?

“What about our baby?” he says.

I sit down on a step. The baby. There’s a baby growing inside me. What in the world am I going to do with a baby? His baby? How will I feel having a constant reminder of him in my life? I couldn’t take that out on an innocent child, could I? But what about protecting it? I haven’t done such a good job with my daughter; how can I expect to keep this one from harm? And how would Shanice treat him, or her?

“Look, Janelle, I’m ashamed of myself for what I’ve done, but I’m glad you found out, because now an end can be put to it. It stops. I stop. And hopefully we can get on with our lives. I want our baby to be raised in this house, with both of his or her parents under one roof, under which there is a new sense of trust and love. Hell, we can get a bigger house. Fill it with even more love and trust than we ever imagined. I know it’s something I’m going to have to earn again, but, baby, I’ll work overtime to get it back. I promise you. I’m sorry. So very sorry. Can’t we try to put this behind us, and think about our future?”

I try to stop the tears but I can’t control them. I wish this was all just a bad dream, and when somebody snaps their fingers or turns the light on, it’ll be over. That my daughter will be upstairs in her bedroom reading Goose-bumps and I’ll be reading a Janet Dailey novel and George will be rubbing his foot up and down my leg until he falls asleep. I have loved him hard, but right now I don’t love any part of him. Can’t. He used to make me feel protected and safe. How in the world can you ever get that back once you lose it?

George is crying, too. We both cry until I know for sure that our pain isn’t the same. Coming from two very different places. I suppose he is sorry, but most criminals are after they get caught. I’m sorry for him. Sorry for Shanice. Sorry for me. But I’m not going to be a fool. Not take any more chances with my daughter’s life. I look down at him and I simply say, “I want you out of here before this day is over. If you refuse, I’ll call a few of your buddies in blue and you can explain it to them.”