til it was ruined. I pulled off the canopy and used it to cover my schoolbag.
Then I walked away, letting the rain drench me, ignoring her shouts behind me.
Cold drops struck my face. Soon, my uniform was soaked through. At the bus stop, people eyed me warily, stepping away as if afraid my dampness would cling to them.
A girl about Fiona’s age hesitated, then handed me a pack of tissues. “Here. Wipe off the rain, or you’ll catch a cold.”
Something in me cracked. Others followed her lead. Someone placed a hand warmer in my palm. Their concern pressed against the raw edges of my chest, and before I could stop them, a few tears slipped out. I wiped them away quickly, pretending it was just the rain.
I forced a smile, murmuring, “Thank you.”
How ironic. Strangers showed me more kindness than my own parents ever did.
…
The next day, Fiona arrived at my school with my parents. They had come to apologize.
Mom’s face was stiff. “Jolene, I was too hasty yesterday. Don’t take it to heart.”
Even apologies felt like commands.
Fiona clung to my hand, her voice sweet and coaxing. “Jolene, Mom already said sorry. Come home, okay?”
Her enthusiasm felt off. Too eager. Too deliberate.
I tilted my head. “What are you saying? Isn’t our family already broken apart?”
The three of them exchanged looks, finally realizing they owed me an explanation. That night, they had fought over divorce. It had escalated, but then Fiona cried. And when she cried, they softened. They decided divorce might affect her studies, so they put it on hold.
The three of them stood before me now, perfectly intact. No one had even thought to tell me.
No one had worried that their divorce might affect me, a high school senior about to take my exams.
I stared at them, my voice even. “I’m sorry, but I already took it to heart.”
