IN THE COVER OF NIGHT, I remove my gloves and press my bare hands against the siding of the old Bell farmhouse. Serena lies in her nightwear, inches away, on the other side of this wall. Her reading light has gone out, and now the two of us are sharing a moment. At some level, she senses my presence. I feel it.
Friedrich Nietzche wrote that the greatest aspiration of a woman should be to give birth to an Ubermensch—a man who would reign supreme over others. If I impregnated her, she’d have my child. Even if she didn’t appreciate the prince she was carrying, she would never give him up. But it’s not my favorite way to have sex, and I’d be better off rid of her. Still, imagine the power of walking into a teenager’s life and telling him, “I’m your father. Do you want to know me? We don’t have to tell anyone.”
The light comes back on. “I dare you to step outside for a breath of fresh air . . .”