On the couch, Max noodles his guitar slowly, in a minor key.

I sit next to him. “What’s goin’ on?”

He says, “Pandora kept hope in the box, right?”

“Far as I know, yeah. Why?”

“Was that kindness or a cruel joke?”

I spot a crumpled sonogram. Realization hits hard.

If you like, keep in touch with Jim at his Substack.