The city is filled with life and nervous energy. Cars honk as they zoom from red light to red light. Somewhere nearby, a fast-food drive-thru is generating a stream of incomprehensible mechanical squawks.
Children at a daycare shriek and play on a plastic slide under a striped canopy.
Children.
I’ve been pregnant. I don’t dwell on it as I miscarried early. I didn’t want the pregnancy, but I still have complicated, unpleasant feelings about the loss.
“I never want to get pregnant again,” I mumble under my breath.
A construction worker staring up into the skeleton of a still-forming building turns toward me. He whistles.
I blush—even though I know there’s no way he could have made out my words—and shoot him the finger.
Ignoring his shout of protest, I rush on, my sneakers kicking up o
