I don’t want her to be pregnant. I’m not ready to have a kid. But if it turned out that she was, then maybe it would be a sign—that I shouldn’t have left. Otherwise, I won’t hear from her. She’ll go on with her life and I’ll go on with mine. We’re both too stubborn to be the one to reach back out, to wordlessly admit that we need each other more than either of us are vulnerable enough to admit. She would be a good mom. I’m almost ready to be a dad, maybe. Before I left, I didn’t think that I was. Now that I’m gone and I’ve been thinking of only the best parts of our time together, I feel like we could do anything together.