Spoons coffee shop is a small place, but my ears tune in to one voice in particular over everyone else’s.

It’s her voice.

It shouldn’t be familiar to me—I’ve never met her before—but it is the specific topic of conversation that catches my attention.

“I will have to ask Aidan about that,” she says. She is planning her wedding, and the baby sits next to her in a stroller.

Can she see me? Does she recognise me? Does she know who I am?

I certainly know who she is.

I want to get out of the coffee shop immediately. I don’t want to walk past the baby. I don’t want to make eye contact with her. I don’t want to hear his name spoken in her voice. I don’t want to hear another word from her mouth.

I don’t know if I believe in God, but I pray to God.

“God, get me the fuck out of here—and I don’t just mean the coffee shop.”

Get me the fuck out of my life. Get me the fuck out of Baltimore. Get me the fuck out of this neighborhood. Get me away from having to see that baby grow up and start walking.

“God, you get me the fuck out of here.”