teste 1
A Week After the Ceremony, My Ex-Wife’s Parents Took Her on a Cruise. When She Returned, She Was Cold... It was raining the day we signed the papers. Not a dramatic storm, not one of those cinematic, thunder-cracking tempests that makes everything feel justified or important. Just a thin, steady drizzle. Gray sky. Gray sidewalk. Gray mood. It was the kind of rain that doesn’t even bother you at first, but after five minutes, it soaks into everything—your socks, your sleeves, the back of your neck. Quiet and persistent, like grief you haven’t named yet. We didn’t talk in the car. She drove. She always did when things got tense—it was her version of control, I think. Hands at ten and two, eyes forward, music low. NPR murmuring in the background like a third party that knew better than to interrupt. I stared out the window and counted red lights. Seven between the apartment and the lawyer’s office. I still remember that. The office was in this sterile building on 12th and Maple. Brick faç...