Snowflakes float lazily as she begins shouting. I do not fight back, and this infuriates her. Crystalline water sparkles in angled sunlight, like the shining stone in her ring that bounce bounce bounces on the floor.
She leaves tire tracks in the driveway, a bit of rubber on the street. Her suitcase, her car are gone, and so is she.
Fat wet flakes fall, coating my hair in age, weariness, fear. They come down down down and fill in the tracks with a coat of purest white.
For a little while, I can forget. For a little while, I pretend.