Roy is eighty years old. He moves and speaks slowly, and doesn’t hear well. One ear is dead, the other is constantly fuzzy. Sometimes he fails to hear the phone ringing, or people talking to him. On a gray morning in February, when a woman begins screaming, he hears it clearly. The sound cuts right through the static of his bad ear. There is something about a woman’s scream that demands attention. He struggles out of his recliner and slowly makes his way across the living room. Looking out the window into the parking lot, what Roy sees sends a chill up his back. It’s the girl from downstairs, the pretty girl who is married and expecting. She is kneeling in the snow, rocking back and forth and wailing, cradling her belly. Roy wonders what is wrong with her, knows it must be bad. He needs to help if he can. He shuffles back through the living room into the kitchen, cursing his slow gait. He picks up the phone and carefully dials 911. It takes a long time to explain what is happening to the dispatcher, and longer to make his way downstairs and out into the parking lot. He approaches the girl, Sarah, who is now weeping, covering her face with her hands. He is about to speak to her when he catches sight of what is lying in the snow at her knees. He stops, lifts a hand to his mouth, and closes his eyes.