“Baby! Babe, please! I just need 5 minutes. Please. Just open the door. I’m really (sigh) sorry.” His voice cracks, soft. He sounds like he’s going to cry. I want to cry with him.
The elevator door dings down the hall and swooshes along, soft muffled noises chorus from TVs in unidentified rooms. A baby cries. An ambulance drowns his latest attempt at an apology. I wish he’d repeat it. His voice is soothing.