Rain of Betrayal

"Is it going to rain today, Alex?" I asked, adjusting the strap of my tote bag.

He didn't look up from his tablet. He tapped the screen twice, scrolling through his emails. "No."

"You're sure? The sky looks awfully gray over the skyline. The clouds are thick."

"Positive, Iris. The forecast is clear."

"I have to pick up the dress today. I really don't want to risk it getting ruined."

"You worry too much," he muttered. He finally glanced at me, his eyes skimming over my beige coat. "Leave the umbrella. It's bulky, and you won't need it. I'll see you at dinner."

"Are we still going to that Italian place on 5th?"

"Yeah. Just don't be late. I have an early meeting tomorrow."

I looked at the custom long-handled umbrella resting against the entryway wall. It was a gift from my mother, sturdy and reliable.

"Alright."

I left it behind.

By six o'clock, Manhattan was drowning.

The sky cracked open right as I stepped out of the bridal boutique. I stood under the awning for twenty minutes, watching empty cabs splash by, their off-duty lights mocking me. The wind howled through the concrete canyons, biting at my exposed skin.

"Need a ride, lady?" a guy yelled from a passing delivery truck.

I ignored him, clutching the massive garment bag tight to my chest. The protective plastic was thin, meant for a light drizzle, not a torrential storm. I had no choice.

I sprinted six blocks.

The plastic tore at the bottom corner, letting the relentless downpour seep into the lily-of-the-valley silk. Water soaked through my coat, pasting my hair to my cheeks. My shoes squelched with every heavy step, the cold seeping into my bones.

I shoved the penthouse door open, shivering violently. I kicked the door shut with my heel.

The apartment was warm, quiet, and dry. The sound of running water echoed from the master bathroom. Alex was in the shower.

I laid the heavy, damp garment bag on the kitchen island. Water pooled around the base, sliding onto the marble surface.

A sharp buzz vibrated against the countertop. Alex’s phone lit up.

I reached over to push it away from the moisture. The lock screen flashed a weather alert.

*Boston temperature dropping tonight, stay warm.*

I frowned. I swiped the screen. He hadn't locked it. The weather app opened directly.

Three cities sat pinned at the very top of his list.

Boston. Los Angeles. Philadelphia.

"Who checks the weather in Boston?" I whispered to the empty kitchen.

My fingers turned numb. Celeste.

Alex's ex-girlfriend. She went to grad school in Boston. She worked in Los Angeles. Her parents lived in Philadelphia.

I scrolled down. I looked for New York.

We had lived in this Manhattan apartment for six years. We were getting married in three days. New York wasn't on his list.

"He doesn't even know if it's raining here," I murmured.

The bathroom door clicked open. Steam rolled out into the hallway, carrying the scent of his expensive body wash.

Alex walked out, a towel slung low around his waist. He stopped dead, his eyes dropping straight to the island.

"What did you do to it?" he asked.

He didn't look at my soaked clothes. He didn't ask why my lips were blue.

"It rained," I said.

He stepped closer, inspecting the torn plastic. He frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows. "Didn't I tell you to be careful?"

"I ran six blocks in a downpour."

"The wedding is the day after tomorrow, Iris. How will you wear it if it's ruined?"

"I'm soaked to the bone, Alex."

"You should have called a cab."

"There were no cabs."

"Then you should have waited at the boutique." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just... get it dry. Don't make a mess of the hardwood floor."

"That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say? You didn't check the weather."

"You told me it wouldn't rain."

"And you blindly believed me? Grow up, Iris. Fix the dress."

He turned and walked into the bedroom. The door shut with a soft thud.

I didn't argue. I didn't scream. I just grabbed a clean towel from the rack and began dabbing the water off the delicate silk hem. The embroidered lilies were soaked, the threads heavy and sagging.

At midnight, the apartment was pitch black except for the glow of my laptop screen.

I dialed the number for my dress designer. She picked up on the third ring.

"Iris? It's midnight. Is everything okay?"

"I need you to remove the embroidery on the hem," I said, my voice flat.

"What? The lilies took weeks to finish. They're the centerpiece of the entire gown."

"They got wet. The silk is stained."

"I can fix them before Saturday. Bring it in first thing tomorrow—"

"No," I cut her off. "Just cut them off."

"Iris, it'll look unfinished."

"I don't want incomplete things. Just do it."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I've never been more sure."

I hung up.

I opened my email. I typed a specific address into the search bar. *Reykjavik.*

An email from two years ago surfaced.

*Copenhagen International Climate Architecture Exhibition.*

I closed my eyes. The memory played sharply in my mind.

A man standing in front of my "Climate-sensitive space" booth. Einar Voss. The brilliant Nordic architect. He had stood there for an hour, studying my models, tracing the lines of my blueprints with his eyes.

"This belongs in Iceland," Einar had said, his accent thick, his gaze piercing.

He handed me a sleek, black invitation card. A position at his polar ecology pavilion.

"I have to decline," I had told him.

"Why? This is your life's work."

"My boyfriend doesn't accept long-distance relationships."

"Is your boyfriend an architect?"

"No. He's in finance."

"Then he doesn't understand what you are throwing away." Einar handed me the card a second time.

"I really have to decline. We live in New York."

Einar hadn't argued further. He simply placed his business card on the edge of the display table. "If the climate changes, let me know."

I opened the old thread. I clicked the link Einar had sent me back then. It was still active.

*Accept Position.*

I clicked it.

The screen flashed a green checkmark. *Confirmation Received.*

Then, I deleted the email. I cleared my browser history.

I shut the laptop.

Outside, the rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. It had been raining in my life for six years, pouring over every compromise I made for a man who didn't even check the weather in my city.

The rain should have stopped a long time ago.

I walked to the closet and pulled out a single, hard-shell suitcase.

Alex thought the wedding was the day after tomorrow. He was wrong.