I didn’t know I was joining an ancient weather pattern the first time I cried over the truth. I thought my tears were mine alone, specific to one man, one betrayal, one couch where everything came apart. I thought I was drowning in my own small storm.
But rain doesn’t work that way.
The tears that fell that night had fallen before. From other women who discovered other lies. From people who loved someone who was living a double life. From anyone who had to go back through every memory and re-see it with new eyes. My rain was falling on ground that had been receiving these storms for lifetimes. I wasn’t the first. I wouldn’t be the last.
