He told me on 23 November, a Sunday, between the tea and the washing-up, because his mother had bought her ticket the day before.
He sat down opposite me and talked for fourteen minutes. I watched the clock on the oven; it's a habit I picked up that year.
His version: a student, one time only, two years ago, before things were going well between us; she wanted to keep the child; she went south for work and signed a paper; he pays a woman in Minhang because he had no choice; he said nothing to me so as not to spoil the year of my new job.
He cried at the ninth minute. He cries well, without a sound, apologising for crying.