It's 2 AM, and Ricky can't sleep. He stares at the ceiling for a minuet before getting up.

When he gets to her house, the lights are off, but he knows she's home. Quietly, he uses the key she'd given him months before. (An act of trust, on her part, he was sure.)

He closes the door and tiptoes up the stairs and down the hall, where her door is cracked open. Inside lie a bed and a crib.

The crib holds his baby, his excuse for being there. In the bed lies the baby's mother; his reason for coming.