I spoke to my mother today, who is nearing the end of her first reading of my draft.
When I first handed the copy to her, I warned her. “This is a dark book.”
“Really?” she asked as she put it next to her purse.
Today she says, “Your book is dark.”
“I warned you.”
“You did?” She sounded puzzled. “Anyway… where are the rainbows?”
She hasn’t quite finished yet, so it will get better.
There are bittersweet rainbows, anyway.