He’s not coming out. Not tonight, anyway.
I must have known. I think I did, anyway. It’s such a cliché. Late nights. Straight to voicemail.
I haven’t told anyone. Not my sister, not my mom. What would they say? Tell me that they saw it right away, that they saw what kind of man I was marrying? Did they?
Holy crap. It’s raining buckets now. I couldn’t drive through this even if I wanted to.
The windows are fogging. I wonder if this looks suspicious. A rainy motel parking lot, the windows steamed solid.
A man alone in a car.