Man Helps Hitchhiking Girl To Get Home. The Next Day, He Turns Pale After Seeing This On News
After years of trying, I finally saw two lines on my pregnancy test. At my ultrasound, joy quickly turned to heartbreak... I spotted my husband hugging a pregnant woman. My stomach dropped. He was cheating. But instead of confronting them, I stayed quiet, plotting my next move, one that would hurt him far more than an argument ever could…
Leaving the ultrasound room, my thoughts were a jumbled mess. The shock of seeing Tom with that woman hit me like a punch in the gut. My heart raced as I tried to process what I'd just witnessed. My mind was racing, but there was no doubt—I needed to figure out what was really going on before I did anything drastic. For now, keeping my composure was the best option.
As I walked past the waiting area, I spotted Tom engrossed in a cozy conversation with her. They seemed at ease with each other, almost like old friends. Their connection was palpable, making my stomach twist with unease. I stayed out of sight, watching how they interacted. Every gesture, every glance between them, spoke volumes. It was clear that this was more than just a casual encounter.
They laughed together as if sharing a private joke, making me feel like the outsider. Tom reached out and gently rubbed her belly, a gesture that burned into my memory. It was a sight I never expected to witness, especially from him. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to move fast and get out of there. I wasn’t sure where he had gone, I just knew I couldn’t bear to watch anymore.
Not wanting to make a scene, I clutched my purse tighter and hurried past them. My mind was in overdrive, fighting between confronting Tom and maintaining my composure. As I slipped by unnoticed, I fought back the wave of anger and betrayal welling up inside. I reminded myself of my plan—no rash decisions, just calculated moves. What I had seen demanded answers, and I was determined to get them.
The drive home was a blur. My thoughts darted from confusion to anger. How long had this been going on? What had I missed? As I drove, I reminded myself that confronting Tom without more information wouldn't solve this. It was time to dig beneath the surface, to uncover whatever truth was hiding in the shadows. I decided I needed to know more—a lot more.
That night, I observed Tom with the careful attention of a detective. I watched him closely, searching for any telltale signs I might have missed before. Was he restless? Distracted? Maybe I'd been too preoccupied with my own worries to notice his unusual behavior. Whatever signals he'd been giving off were now under a spotlight. Every glance, every word, I scrutinized for hidden meaning.
Dinner was an awkward affair. Tom seemed on edge, his eyes straying to his phone more than usual. I noted every glance, every distraction, wondering if they were somehow related to what I’d seen earlier. “Everything okay?” I casually asked, trying to coax something out of him. He nodded, but his nervous demeanor told a different story. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and we both felt it.
I decided to drop a hint and see his reaction. 'The ultrasound tech was nice today,' I mentioned casually, hoping to gauge his response. His eyes flickered, a brief moment of hesitation before he replied with a smile. 'That’s good,' he muttered, trying to appear enthusiastic. But I caught the flicker of guilt, the quick smile failing to mask whatever weighed on his mind.
His hesitation was all I needed to confirm that not everything was as it seemed. His quick smile and platitudes shielded a deeper truth, one I was closer to unveiling by the minute. I knew this meant digging deeper, getting to the heart of things before confronting him. My silence now wasn’t weakness—it was strategic. I needed the full picture before making my move.
Back home, I grabbed my notebook and sat at the kitchen table. I started jotting down every detail I could remember from the ultrasound incident. As the pen flew across the pages, each word written added to the weight on my shoulders. I was determined to unravel this mystery. The feeling was odd, like being in one of those crime shows I loved, but this was real and so personal.
First thing the next morning, I decided that following Tom was essential. I needed to catch him in his unexplained errands to find the missing pieces of the puzzle. I chose a discreet corner in our kitchen to watch him get ready. 'Got any plans for today?' I asked, trying to sound casual. With a dismissive shrug, he just mumbled something about running a few errands. Suspicious, I grabbed my keys.
Tom mentioned he needed to meet a friend. But honestly, with everything that happened, I wasn’t buying it. My instincts told me there was more to this mysterious friend. ‘See ya later,’ he tossed over his shoulder as he walked out. Watching him leave, I felt a heavy pit in my stomach. I wasted no time and quietly followed him out, careful not to make my presence known.
I found myself driving a few cars behind Tom. He seemed oblivious, just like any other day. But my heart sped up the closer we got to a charming suburban neighborhood. It was peaceful, with tree-lined streets and cozy homes. This wasn’t anywhere near where he usually went, raising more questions in my mind. As he turned into the street, I slowed down, wondering what was next.
Tom pulled up to a small, cozy house and stepped out. He walked up the path with a relaxed confidence that was all too familiar. My curiosity peaked as I watched him, blending into the picturesque surroundings that felt oddly intimate. What was so special about this place? I’d need to know who lived there, and soon. Patience felt like the hardest part right now.
Peeking from behind a large oak tree, I watched Tom disappear inside. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this house held key answers. But, without exposing myself, I had to figure out who lived there. Maybe I could ask around or look up the address online. It was a risky move, but I felt more determined with every passing moment. The truth awaited inside those walls.
Over the next few days, I made sure to keep tabs on Tom’s every interaction and location. It became a routine, almost like shadowing a suspect. He hardly noticed, thinking everything at home was normal. Meanwhile, I jotted down every detail I could find. My heart ached a little, seeing him carry on so easily while I was left grappling with uncertainty.
When Tom mentioned a work dinner extending into the late evening, red flags went up. Usually, he was home by dinner, and this convenient excuse was too perfect. 'Don't wait up,' he quipped, grabbing his coat. I nodded, forcing a smile, but inside, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The lies seemed to unravel, and I was inching closer to solving the puzzle.
Back home, I set up shop, scanning through his phone calls and texts whenever he left it unattended. I was desperate for any overt signs. Each notification felt like potential evidence, but it remained frustratingly elusive. Between messages about work and friends, nothing concrete showed itself. It was a delicate dance of observation and patience, but I refused to stop now.
Meanwhile, my emotions were a swirling storm. Anger, betrayal—they took turns creeping into my thoughts, demanding release. However, finding the truth was still my priority. I craved answers more than anything, determined to uncover whatever Tom was hiding. Sure, it was stressful and tiring, but I knew I was strong enough to see this through. My instincts had led me this far, after all.
I was determined to find out more about Tom's secret life, so I set my sights on his financials. Figured they'd hold clues like a mystery novel. After all, money talks louder than most. I didn't have a clue what I might uncover, but I was ready to piece things together. There was something unsettling about invading his privacy, but the need for truth drowned out my hesitations.
That evening, Tom was in such a rush he forgot to close his laptop. Jackpot, I thought, feeling like a detective on a case. I pretended to be busy with chores, all the while keeping a hawk-eye on that open screen. His absence felt like an invitation to explore. It was risky business, sure, but my resolve to get answers was stronger than my fear of getting caught.
Once I was sure Tom wouldn’t walk in, I planted myself in front of his laptop, scrolling through his emails with the urgency of a nosy sleuth. I scanned for anything that screamed 'clue' or 'cover-up.' As they say, secrets hide in plain sight—or in endlessly mundane exchanges. Every click felt like a lead, pushing me closer to the truth lurking beneath his polite, everyday messages.
In the maze of emails, I found her name. They talked a lot—like, a lot, a lot. Booking appointments, fretting over medical bills, discussing future plans. The exchange was too familiar, too comfortable. Reading these exchanges made my heart beat faster. All I could think about was how intertwined their lives seemed. It was like peeking into another world where my husband had a different life.
As much as I wanted to scream or confront Tom right there, I knew better. The evidence suggested he would deny everything or spin more lies. I felt my strategy shifting. My initial instincts told me confrontation wasn’t the answer; gathering more information was my priority. I needed more before making a move. Sometimes keeping quiet proved to be a stronger weapon in quelling deceit.
So, I slid into my role, wearing the mask of normalcy. Each morning, I continued our routines, cooking, smiling, pretending like nothing ever happened. ‘Morning, hon,’ I’d say, keeping it casual, keeping him clueless. This new game of pretense allowed me time to map out my next steps. All the while, I was gathering little crumbs of evidence leading me to the bigger truth.
Tom’s phone buzzing became the alarm system in my reality-finding mission. Every time it rang, I’d ask, ‘Who’s it?’ with the kind of casual curiosity only a wife can muster. His immediate reactions became my source of suspicion. Would he answer brusquely, vaguely, or pause ever so slightly? I watched him closely, trying to decipher the hidden messages in his tone and expressions.
He started giving me vague replies. ‘Just work,’ Tom would mutter, not quite looking me in the eyes. The evasion was real. Those two simple words carried volumes of distrust, and I couldn’t unhear their meanings. He had started building a wall of convenient half-truths and I was hammering down the foundation, brick by brick. His avoidance only spurred me to probe even further.
With Tom being more elusive than an actor dodging typecasting, I started paying attention to repeated numbers on his call list. A particular one stood out. They exchanged multiple calls, making my curiosity soar. I quickly jotted it down, a crime show plot playing in my head. This was a lead I intended to follow through, a thread in my growing tapestry of unraveling truth.
The phone number was unknown, yet unshakable in significance. My mind buzzed with possibilities—was it her? Was it the key to a whole side of Tom I never knew? I stored it for sleuthing later, certain it would unlock more clues. While I couldn't draw direct conclusions yet, every small discovery felt like another step toward the end game.
With my chest tightening with suspicion, I decided it was time to find out who owned that mysterious number I'd saved. A plan formed to seek answers online. 'I’ll just pop this into a search engine,' I mumbled to myself, fingers flying across the keyboard. Each keystroke was a step closer to the truth. I knew if I found something, it would open doors to answers or at least guide me toward them.
Outside the bustling grocery store, I saw her again—yes, the pregnant woman. My heart skipped several beats. There she was, blending into the crowd filled with shopping carts and chatter. I kept my distance but watched her every move, my curiosity consuming me. Why was she here? Coincidence or intent? I needed to approach her and find out. It felt like a necessary move in this twisted game of clue hunting.
She looked comfortable, sipping on her drink, eyes on magazines sprawled across the rack. To her, I probably seemed just another shopper reaching for the latest gossip issue. 'Excuse me!' I said, edging closer, pretending to glance at the books. She barely noticed, consumed by whatever glossy page sat open before her. I couldn’t help but wonder if she saw Tom’s face in those pages as clearly as I saw hers in mine.
Approaching with a friendly smile, I said, 'Nice day today, isn’t it? These lines are endless!' She looked up, a little surprised, and then nodded with a small smile. 'Totally,' she replied, holding her drink like a lifeline. We chatted about the weather and the store's never-ending queues. I played it cool, masking my intent with casual banter. My mission was clear: learn more but not tip her off.
Maintaining that friendly tone, I eased the conversation toward Tom. 'Do you come here often with family?' I asked, trying to sound genuinely interested. She hesitated, then said, 'I do, sometimes.' The way she mentioned 'sometimes' and 'family' caught my attention. Beneath the surface of this small talk, there were hints of something deeper—connections, attachments. My instincts told me I was closer to uncovering just what her ties were to my husband.
We continued our chat, and I felt like every casual line she dropped was filled with more than it looked. My gut screamed that she knew plenty about Tom and his tangled web of secrets. Though outwardly chatting about random things, her words hinted at an understanding of Tom’s double life. My instincts flared—a combination of fear and excitement coursing through me—propelling me to pick at the edges of the veil she inadvertently laid down.
As soon as I got home, I remembered that phone number. I sat with my laptop, determined to unearth the identity behind it. Each click was a drumbeat, rising in tempo as anticipation churned in my belly. I was like a detective piecing together the evidence, eyes glued to the screen. It had to lead somewhere—it just had to. This digital footprint might finally shed light on the concealed chapters of my husband’s life.
Staring at the screen, I watched the search results unfold. Her name glowed back at me, alongside her address—my heart thrummed as puzzle pieces started connecting. This was it, a direct link to her world. Her name, her address—it all felt overwhelmingly real now. Like I’d found the key to an unexpectedly sinister corner of my reality. With each recorded detail, the picture of Tom’s secret life sharpened before my eyes.
Hands trembling, I traced lines between her details and familiar pieces from my life. Everything was starting to make sense now. I scribbled notes feverishly, linking every fact and suspicion born from unseen connections. Suspicion now felt like more restrained knowledge, tilting from mere chance to a lifestyle I hadn’t chosen but was cast into. Every line connected confirmed my growing fears. The picture forming wasn't pretty—a dark tapestry woven behind my back.
Firmness in my pen, I turned to my notebook, capturing every detail that led me here. Each jot was a revelation, a cog in this machine of deception Tom operated. The findings were more than scribbles; they were my shield and weapon, prepared for an inevitable confrontation. As I wrote, I felt more balanced, knowing I had the clues needed for what came next. The stage was nearly set for the confrontation of my life.
The kitchen quickly became my strategic hub, with papers laid out like a tactical map. I scribbled options on a notepad, my mind racing with possibilities. Maybe I should consult a lawyer? Or perhaps I should confront them both unexpectedly. Timing was everything, and I knew it. Whatever action I took, it had to be calculated, maximum impact with minimal chance for Tom to wiggle out.
Rummaging through Tom's cluttered desk, I stumbled upon a stack of paperwork stuffed in the back of a drawer. Guilt stained the ink of transactions I wasn't meant to see. Each paper revealed Tom's involvement in something much deeper, something that screamed dishonesty. A part of me anticipated betrayal, but not the intricate web of deceit now laid bare before me.
Nestled among the documents was a piece of paper I hoped I'd never find—a paternity test, titled clearly, with Tom’s name in bold. My stomach tightened as if a vice had clamped down, confirming my worst fears. Realizations collided with betrayal; this wasn’t just cheating, it was a betrayal like no other. I gripped the paper tightly, the world around me blurring.
With the paternity test in hand, I felt the searing pain morph into something more permanent: resentment. This endless riddle wasn’t just pieces of a puzzle but shards of trust I could never piece together again. Anger bubbled nearer the surface, hardening my resolve. With each passing moment, resentment solidified into an unyielding barrier between the life we'd pretended to have and the stark reality before me.
I found myself burrowing deep in thought, questioning how long Tom had dared support her under my nose. How much innocence had I missed in between gritted teeth and fake smiles? His secret actions were dressed up in false virtue—a vain attempt to be a hero. Questions popped like fireworks, each harder to answer than the last, but I promised myself I'd uncover enough to end this sham.
Armed with proof, I needed to keep my calm. Joy at unmasking him would only mask my true intent. Ensuring I didn't telegraph my moves was crucial; his downfall needed stealth. I had to be nuanced, a patient observer holding cards close to my chest. Clear-eyed revenge, concocted with whispered rhythms of silence, waiting in the wings until I held every advantage.
Tom slipped into the kitchen, casually mentioning another late night, eyebrows furrowed as though the weight of work bore heavily on his shoulders. ‘Lots of pressure at the office,’ he quipped, patting my arm distractedly. I nodded while my heart raced; the charade continued. His excuses were as worn as the jacket he threw on before heading toward the door.
‘Hope it’s not too tiring,’ I called after him, forcing the edges of my mouth to curl up, hoping it looked reassuring. Inside, I sang a different tune, but my poker face held steady. Waving goodbye, my smile became more cardboard by the second, sturdy yet false. Every step he took away from me was another point of no return in my twisted act of deception.
With Tom gone, I punched in Olivia’s number, hands shaking as I explained the sordid saga. ‘I can't believe he'd do this,’ she gasped, voice warm with the outrage of a true friend. ‘You matter most, remember that,’ she advised, soothing words stitched with care. Her support boosted my courage, and she became my ally, reminding me the path I’d chosen was both brave and necessary.
Olivia remained silent, soaking in each painful detail I shared. Her sigh reflected my own heartbreak. ‘You need to be your priority,’ she insisted, grounding our conversation in care. Her genuine concern rippled through me, carrying away the fog of solitary despair. With her urging, my resolve to reclaim my worth and unmask Tom’s farce crystallized like a promise, simple but resolute.
Olivia and I sprawled the kitchen table with papers and websites. 'So, what’s next?' she asked, chewing her pen thoughtfully. I pointed at some printed pages. 'Maybe legal advice?' I suggested, my voice a mix of determination and dread. The room buzzed with possibilities. We tossed ideas back and forth, mixing practicality with dreams of poetic justice. This brainstorm felt like therapy, where art meets law—searching for the perfect blueprint to handle this mess.
The days passed in a blur as I met with my lawyer, trudging through every sordid detail of what had happened. 'You're doing great,' she assured me, shuffling through her paperwork. It was comforting like having a wise friend guiding me. The lawyer's office became my second home, filled with legal jargon and empathy. We dug deeply, turning over each layer of my marriage. I spilled everything, unraveling the years for someone to help stitch them anew.
We chatted over considerations for dividing assets, ensuring our child's future needs were secured. 'We've got to think ahead,' my lawyer advised, scribbling notes. I nodded, feeling the importance of each word. Planning felt like scripting a new chapter—a financial safeguard cocoon for us, leaving my past behind. The relief of guidance spread warmth through me, as if slowly patching holes to a safety net I hadn’t realized we needed.
Each night became a silent stitching session, a surreal blend of strategy and patience. I lay in bed, rearranging mental puzzle pieces while daylight dreamed on. Tom’s snores created a reassuring rhythm, a temporary soundtrack to my quiet war. Every calculated step secured a foundation for what was to come, gathering emotional energy and piecing together time until everything aligned perfectly. The nights felt endless yet satisfying, droplets in the stream toward freedom.
Tom waltzed around, spinning tales I understood but sounded naïve through experience. He seemed blissfully unaware, caught in the duality of his double life. 'Another tough day at work,' he’d sigh, never noticing my knowing nod wasn't as innocent as it seemed. He didn’t see the castles crumbling behind his curated façade, his words as empty and rehearsed as a midday TV drama. Each tale marked how far apart our lives had stretched.
With every day, normalcy turned into the best disguise. I acted out the routine meticulously, every 'morning' and 'goodnight' scripted with precision and hope. Inside, a storm brewed, but outside, I wore calm like a well-loved sweater. Little did Tom know, the chaos had become my liberation plan, steps marked lightly but unwaveringly toward freedom. The drama neared a close, my perseverance becoming a compass pointing to fresh beginnings across the horizon.
Olivia arrived one crisp morning, the car engine humming pleasantly outside my window. 'Ready?' she asked, unlocking passenger doors to a new life canvas. Together we steered toward the bank, dreams of independence and security bustling in quiet unison. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach; this ride wasn't just travel—it drew lines between past and future, sketching a clearer vision edged with freewheel determination and breezy, friendship—an artistic adventure on wheels.
The bank awaited like an anticipatory pause, a calm before change stormed in. I ran mental scenarios, my fingers erratic as I readied to close accounts a life had entwined. Tom’s blithe ignorance left space, a rock-solid conviction now leading me stealthily through the motions. With Olivia beside me, we enacted the last plans discussed and drawn in confidence over coffee, mindful of every detail until my path forward lay clear and solid.
Amid the echoes of bank transactions, I pondered the weight of what I was about to do. 'It’s the right move,' I reassured myself, more a mindfulness mantra than spoken words. Securing our future meant risk but was laced with hope—a mix of anticipation and fear of the unknown. I trusted my instincts, ensuring resources for uncertain roads. Each step was a whisper, binding unsecured chapters, a chorus of resilience charting new territories.
Each pen stroke bound our shared finances firmly behind me. One signature after another locked away ties that anchored me to a past painted by infidelity. 'This is for us,' I thought, each motion a release into my own craft of new beginnings. Freedom felt tangible, A crisp paper symbolizing creative escapes through untold adventures. With the final clash of ink, I closed another chapter, ready to sculpt new stories from fresh starts.
As I stepped out of the bank, I felt lighter but strained. Everything was set in motion, my decisions bound for a ripple effect through our future. I glanced at Olivia, receiving a nod of reassurance. ‘You did it,’ she said with a grin. The road ahead seemed daunting yet promising, like standing on the brink of a vast new world. I knew this choice would shape what was next for us.
Arriving home, I was all business. The desk in our small office became my canvas. I arranged the divorce papers neatly, making sure each one was signed and dated. It felt surreal, like setting up a scene in a drama I never wanted to play a role in. But it was necessary. Every piece of paper was a step toward freedom, an unpainted landscape waiting for a new beginning.
Among the papers, I placed something that might sting the most—a framed ultrasound of our baby. It was a punch to the gut for anyone passing by. Each time I looked at it, a mix of love and regret washed over me. This wasn’t just about endings; it was about beginnings too. The sight of our baby brought a pang of what could have been, mixing sweetness with sadness.
My heart was pounding as I took a deep breath, the sound echoing in the silent house. It felt like the walls heard my every heartbeat. There was a tense anticipation in the air, a crackling suspense layered over the usual calm. I straightened the papers again, every motion deliberate and heavy with meaning. ‘This is it,’ I told myself, feeling the weight of what was coming.
Cognizant of Tom’s return, I swept into action. I quickly sealed envelopes, slipping the legal documents inside, readying them for mailing. The clock ticked loudly in the quiet, marking time like a metronome to my decisions. I knew these documents were the final strokes of a plan now closing in. Mailing them felt like an irreversible step, each stamp a seal of firm resolution.
The house, which once held warm memories, now felt oddly hollow. With each passing hour, it echoed with the finality of what was coming. I looked around at the familiar rooms as if seeing them for the last time. Determination washed over me, knowing the time for confrontation was dwindling. The walls seemed to whisper secrets in my ears, reminding me of what had been and what was yet to come.
That night, Tom wandered into the office, coming across the stack of papers. His eyes widened, the disbelief painting his face starkly. His gaze shifted from the papers to the ultrasound, stark realization dawning. He hesitated, shadows of emotions flickering in his eyes. The unthinking veneer of his double life was shattered by the sight before him. It was as if the floor had shifted beneath him.
‘Sarah!’ Tom’s voice rang out, laden with urgency and bewilderment. He called me, demanding answers, his voice echoing like a siren between the walls. The weight of the moment seemed to crush the room, demanding a confrontation. The sudden intensity in his voice carried the magnitude of what he faced, a cascade of suspicions and betrayals demanding explanation. But I waited, letting my silence speak louder.
When I finally faced him, my expression was calm, belying the turmoil inside. ‘It’s true,’ I began, laying bare the betrayal woven into our lives. I recounted all I knew, each truth hitting like a steady drumbeat. The depth of my knowledge caught him off guard, unraveling his practiced poise. I could see him stumble under the weight of guilt and deceit, each word weaving a clearer future without him.
Tom tried to explain, his excuses faltering and falling apart under the spotlight of truth. Guilt draped over him like an invisible shroud. ‘I never meant for it to go this far,’ he whispered. But I remained unfazed, each word bouncing off me as I focused on the future alone. Our child deserved an honest reality. The path ahead was mine to reshape, and I was ready.
Carter, always a good Samaritan, didn't think twice before helping a young hitchhiker named Avery get home safely. It was a simple act of kindness on a hot summer day. He dropped her off at a modest house on the outskirts of town, her grateful smile the only reward he expected.
But the next day, as Carter watched the morning news, his face drained of color, his heart pounding with disbelief.
It wasn’t unheard of for truck drivers to encounter hitchhikers on the side of the road. Often, truck drivers were the only ones who would actually take them with them. So when Carter saw a girl at the side of the road, not looking older than twelve, he knew he couldn’t drive past her. He quickly pulled over and opened his passenger door for her.
The girl stepped into his truck without an ounce of fear on her face. “Good afternoon,” she said happily. “Hi,” Carter confusedly answered. “Where are you headed?” He didn’t want to pry too much, as he didn’t want to make the girl uncomfortable. The girl gave Carter an address that was about an hour's drive in the wrong direction he actually had to go on, but he decided to take her there anyway.
As he began to drive again, Carter tried to have a casual conversation. “I’m Carter. What’s your name?” he asked the girl. “I’m Tara,” the girl said, staring at the road in front of her. It stayed quiet for a bit, but Carter was just too curious. “What is a young girl like you doing all alone at the side of the road?”
He watched as Tara’s facial expression changed from neutral to a bit sad. Then, she looked at Carter and returned the question. “What is an old man like you picking up young girls off the side of the road?” she asked him, her big eyes staring right into his. Carter was taken aback by the girl’s sassy response, so he began to stammer.
“I.. Eh,” he said. Then, the girl began to laugh. “I’m just joking. But I won’t answer your question. It’s a secret,” Tara said. Carter sheepishly laughed, but he got a strange gut feeling about the girl. Suddenly, she didn’t seem so innocent anymore. She actually seemed rather strange. He turned his attention back to the road, looking at his navigation for the time.
He still had forty-five minutes to go with the strange girl in his truck. Sometimes, he would look at her through the corner of his eye, but she just sat there, staring in front of her in silence. Carter didn’t know if she was just a little frightened to sit in a stranger’s car or if there could be something else going on with the girl.
A child had never made him feel this type of way before, which confused Carter even more. What could a little girl like her even do to a grown man? Carter sighed; he had to loosen up. It wasn’t like him to act like this. Hell, last week, he beat up a guy who was trying to cut in line without second-guessing himself, and now he was scared of a little girl?
“So, are you going to your parent's house?” Carter asked, slicing right through the silence. The little girl seemed to startle a little from his sudden question. “Eh, no,” she said, nothing more, nothing less. Then, it was back to silence. Carter was done with the one-way conversation, so he turned on the radio and listened to music for the rest of the drive.
Finally, they arrive at a house modest house. It looked ordinary like he could have lived there. The little girl stepped out of the truck, gave Carter a simple thank you, and slammed the door shut. Carter stayed until he watched the little girl enter the house, but he couldn’t see who had opened the door as the person had stayed out of sight.
Carter sighed in relief as he started his truck again. Now, he had to drive the hour back until he was back on-route to his destination. Even though he was now an hour behind schedule, he was happy he was the one who had picked up the girl. He couldn’t imagine how wrong this could have gone for her if someone else stopped before he did.
While on his drive back, Carter couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. She had left a mark on him, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of it. He turned on the radio again, hoping it would distract him a bit. Sadly, the news was on instead of a song. “The police are looking for–” the news anchor said, but Carter never liked to listen to the news, so he zapped.
He wouldn’t make it to his destination for another 12 hours, so he had to find a place to sleep. He knew there was a truck stop in a couple of hours, so he decided to keep driving and stop there to sleep before he would resume his journey the next day. That night, Carter was tormented with nightmares.
Around four in the morning, Carter woke up to police sirens rushing by. He was sleeping inside his truck at the side of the highway so that he could hear everything outside. Normally, he was a vast sleeper, but anyone would have woken up by the sound of ten police cars rushing by. It seemed like it would never end.
After Carter finally dropped off the cargo he was transporting, he made his way home. Totally exhausted, he sat down on the couch, a beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. He turned on the TV, hoping one of his favorite shows was on. As he zapped through the channels, he suddenly stopped, almost choking on a bite.
On the TV screen was a picture of the little girl he had picked up this afternoon. He couldn’t believe it. He quickly turned up the TV volume to hear everything loud and clear. Sadly, the news broadcast was at its end, and all he could hear was, “If you know anything, call this number,” followed by a phone number.
With a quick grab for a pen, Carter scribbled down the number before it could vanish. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other. What had happened to Avery since he last saw her? Why was her face on the news? There was a tightness in his chest, a mix of worry and confusion, as he wrote down the last digit of the number.