On the day she stood on that porch, soaked through and pregnant with my children, Bianca had come out to meet her carrying a thick manila envelope.

Inside it was fifteen thousand dollars in cash.

Bianca told her that I already knew about the pregnancy — that I wanted nothing to do with her or the babies — and that the money was a settlement, so she could disappear quietly and start fresh somewhere else.

“I didn’t take a single dollar of it,” Samantha said.

“I wrote my new phone number on a scrap of paper, and I put it in that woman’s hand, and I begged her — if it was really true, if you really wanted nothing to do with your own children, then have him call me and tell me himself.”

I stared at the rug.