The loudest roar of thunder came from inside their four walls rather than the intense summer storm outside. An incoming heatwave confronting the week-long cold front spurned a rash of thunderstorms, but a different storm had been brewing inside for months, exploding with the first crack of lighting when Mia said, “I’m leaving.” Paul tried keeping her there, using words he strung together to wrap around her like links in a chain, making it harder for Mia’s escape. But she sawed through Paul’s links with serrated-edged words, cutting through every argument he came up with to keep her there. The storm intensified, spurning flying dishes and angry accusations around the room until nothing was left but a big mess. And as the heavy rain beat on the roof and windows, and the wind whipped off tree limbs and shutters, the roof was finally ripped off the top of their house, exposing their mess to the Gods. Paul tried pulling Mia to the safety of the cellar, begging her to hide with him from the storm. But Mia looked up, realizing the roof that once kept the ugly inside was gone. And when she heard the next crack, she opened her arms toward the black sky, inviting the impending electric shock into her marital home, and in a flash, Mia climbed up the lightning bolt and out of the house, escaping into the arms of the storm’s embrace.