The rain didn’t fall… it attacked. Sideways, slanted, slapping the windows like the sky had finally snapped and filed for emotional bankruptcy. It was the kind of rain that turned everything gray, even the insides of your chest. It blurred lines, soaked certainties, smudged eyeliner you weren’t even wearing but felt emotionally nonetheless. And I stood there at my kitchen sink, watching it pummel the city like it owed it something, and felt my own skull echo with that same dull pressure, as if somewhere between the wine and the waiting I had officially crossed over into soap opera territory.
The day had unraveled like a drunk ballerina. First, Camille told me Daphne would be sitting in on another product strategy meeting. I pretended not to flinch. Then Jack sent me flowers, again, this t
