By Monday, Ronda had learned something she did not enjoy knowing:
once a woman stopped running from her own heart, she became more visible to every other woman who had been watching all along.
Not because love changed her into someone foolish.
Not because she started floating through hallways smiling to herself like a person in a song.
No.
It was quieter than that.
She no longer flinched inward every time Karl entered a room.
She no longer treated her own feelings like a stain she needed to scrub off before anyone saw.
She had not become careless.
But she had become honest in small ways.
And honesty, even when tightly held, changed posture.
Changed stillness.
Changed the exact kind of silence a woman wore.
Vivian saw that.
Ronda knew it before the week properly began.
The ci
