Ten years after my husband threw me out in the rain while I was carrying his twins, I watched him tell a television audience that his one regret was never having children.

And every single time that man got to the point of actually doing something, he could not work out the mechanics of it.

How a man knocks on a door after six years. And then seven. And then eight.

What he says on the step. What he says in the four seconds after she opens it.

So he did not.

And then in the November of 2025 he sat in a chair under some lights, and a woman asked him what he regretted.

And he said the thing he said.

He has told me he does not know why.

That it came out of him. That he heard it come out of his own mouth about half a second after it had gone.

And that he knew, while he was still sitting in that chair with a camera on him, that it was going to end up in front of me.