I wandered over to one of the office’s windows and looked out at the Hudson. There was a numb feeling; Peggy Lee droning, “Is that all there is to a fire?” I hoped the women would feel it was worth it; that they’d been able to protect others. I wondered what would become of me. I had no arrangement with The New Yorker beyond that first story, and no path forward in television. In the glass, I could make out the dark circles under my own eyes and, beyond that, the world clear to the glittering horizon. A news chopper hovered over the Hudson, watching.
