There I was, sitting in a quiet corner of Het Goude Hooft, hands wrapped around a latte that had long gone cold. Would she come? Was this real? Or had I walked straight into the hands of some delusional creep with a thing for vulnerable women? Or—just maybe—was this the moment? The moment something would break open inside me and the world would shift? Not that I had any reason to complain. When I was thirteen and told my...