My parents threw me out at nineteen because I wouldn’t end my pregnancy. Ten years later I drove back with my son and knocked on the same door and I finally told them who his father was.

And there was a long silence and then he said: it’s in the garage.

And I said: I know.

Nobody has moved it yet. It is still in a toolbox in Ohio and I am still eight hours away, and that is where it is going to stay for a few more years, and I find I am all right with that.