Alexi straightens up, inhales, runs his hands through his hair and fixes me with a solemn expression. Slightly agitated and that restless energy peeking through. This is him stressed; now I know what it looks like. It sobers me, and I steady myself, looking at his profile.

“I don’t want kids. Why would I? With my history and issues, what kind of father would I be? What would I pass on, and why would I endanger my kids as my father did with us? It’s bad enough worrying about ...