I Said It Wasn’t Going to Rain

We were heading out, nothing fancy—just running a couple errands.

I grabbed my keys and was already halfway to the door when he said, “You might want to take a jacket.”

I didn’t even check the weather.

“I’m fine. It’s not going to rain.”

It looked fine.

A little cloudy, sure—but not “bring a jacket” cloudy.

He glanced outside, then back at me, and said, “Alright.”

Again with the “alright.”

We got in the car, drove out, and everything was normal.

No rain. No wind. Nothing.

I gave him a look like, see?

Then about fifteen minutes later, it started.

Not a light drizzle.

Full rain.

Out of nowhere.

And of course, we had to get out of the car right when it picked up.

I just sat there for a second, watching it hit the windshield like it personally had something against me.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look at me yet.

I opened the door anyway and made a run for it like that was going to make a difference.

It didn’t.

By the time we got inside, I was soaked enough to be annoyed but not enough to be dramatic about it.

Which somehow made it worse.

I stood there, brushing water off my arms like that was helping.

He finally looked over and said, “You good?”

I narrowed my eyes and said, “Don’t.”

He nodded.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t push it.

But yeah.

We both knew.

My husband was right.