"You cry in the car. Never in front of anyone. The car has heard everything." The commute home has become something it was never meant to be. You pull out of the parking lot and something shifts. Not immediately—sometimes it takes a few miles. But somewhere between the office and the highway or the school and the side street, the face you've been wearing all day starts to come loose. Maybe it's a song. Maybe it's the silence. Perhaps it's just the quality of being alone in a