ZANE.A week later a guard brought mail to the front porch where I sat sipping coffee and reading a boring book about controlling the spirit and mind. I wished the book would just end but I kept turning pages anyway.The guard handed it over. “Here, Mr. Zane.”I saw it was from Saint Michael hospital. I tore the envelope open. Before I could read the paper my father snatched it out of my hand in a hurry.He opened it, saw the words, and a big smile spread across his face. He went in jubilating, “I told you, Rose. I told you. I am not the father.”I rubbed my fingers together, took another sip of coffee, and stood up with the cup in one hand and the closed book in the other. I walked inside and found my father shoving the paper in Mom’s face while she sat in her wheelchair.He shouted, “I told you I was right. Don’t you owe me something?”Mom ignored him and turned her wheels away. He kept shouting, “I prove my innocence and you walk away from me.”Mom asked, “Innocence?” Then she look
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