After my parents divorced, I feared a long winter. But the storm never came.
When some people hear the word divorce, they think of a thunderstorm. Parents’ voices raised in anger. Kids cowering in the background as they listen to the booms grow louder and watch the lightning flash.
But this wasn’t the case for my parents. For me, the divorce was a snowstorm: falling so quietly and lightly that the reality of what had happened melted before I started to pay attention. The signs were there. In my flowering innocence, my five-year-old self just never considered them.