It was the collection of smaller exceptions everyone learned to excuse.

I had ignored too many exceptions at home.

That evening, instead of questioning Connor again, I went to dinner with my oldest friend, Elise.

She listened without trying to tell me whether to stay or leave.

“Do you want the truth,” she asked, “or do you want a version that lets you return to normal?”

I looked at the untouched soup before me.

“I used to think they were the same thing.”