A chance meeting at a café one afternoon, I ran into an old girlfriend months after our years-long relationship ended. There was awkward talk of new jobs, new friends, and as I moved to say goodbye, there was one more piece of news: “I’m going to be an aunt,” she said. I looked at her. She shrugged, smiled sadly. “Deirdre’s pregnant. Two months, now.” The news echoed in my ears, quivered through my bones. I mouthed the words, Deirdre’s pregnant. Deirdre was seventeen years old. There seemed nothing more to say except goodbye and good luck. As I stepped into the sunlight, stunned and blinking, a murmur of longing and regret whispered through me. It continued unabated as I walked toward home, past my street, to the waterfront. All the while that voice welled until it surged through me like a cry… I cannot let this passing of affection happen without a word...