“Negative?” I ask, for the third time. The nurse, in her thick Danish accent, sighs and confirms. “Yes. You tested negative for HIV, hepatitis, gonorrhea…” I stop listening there. I’m clean. Lucky bastard. Now, Anna could still be pregnant, though. Would she ever tell me if she was? Would she keep it? “My child.” I’m not sure if I want to have kids. And I’m pretty sure that no kid would want me to be their father, nor any woman would like me to be the father of their kids. So this is, realistically, the closest I have ever been to becoming a dad. Maybe, the closest I will ever be, too. I’m kind of okay with it. Kind of.