The Ability to Cry | The New Yorker
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If I shed one tear, I might become Alice, swimming in an ocean of my tears.
Save this story Save this story I’ve been ghosted, I told a friend on a Friday afternoon, when I hadn’t been able to reach Julia for days. The following week, I would be out of town, and Julia—I have changed her name—was scheduled to take care of our dog and our younger son in the hours before my husband got home from work, but she had not replied to my messages for confirmation. It was unlike her. The previous two summers when we’d travelled, she had sent multiple photos and video clips, from our home in New Jersey, to let us know that the dog was happy and the garden was prospering. On the d
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