Elevator in the Cedars-Sinai doctors towers -- LA.
An obviously pregnant woman stands in a corner. She's stylish, late 40ish, quiet. Holding a book.
The door opens, and in walks a hurried, oddly confident man wearing dad shorts and a smug grin. The man stares at the woman's bulging midsection.
Then, laughing a little, he says to her: "Late start, huh?"
The woman looks shocked, remains silent.
The man continues: "It's tough later in life. I'm almost 50, and it's hard as hell on ya."
The woman looks to me.
I try to say sorry with my eyes on behalf of stupid (male) humans.
Then the doors open, and the man pushes his way out.
"Good luck with that," he tells the woman.
She and I both stand in the open elevator on the first floor. A moment passes.
She doesn't know I'm wearing a device under my clothes that monitors my heart. She doesn't know anything about me.
"Thank you," she says. I smile.
Then we leave.