That's The Way It Always Happens
    "An old walrus-faced waiter attended to me; he had the knack of pouring the coffee and the hot milk from two jugs, held high in the air, and I found this entracing, as if he were a child's magician. One day he said to me--he had some English--'Why are you sad?'
    "'I'm not sad,' I said, and began to cry. Sympathy from strangers can be ruinous."
    --Iris, The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood
...

I remember this one time, long, long ago, I came home from high school, heartbroken from witnessing my ex-boyfriend getting on the bus with a hoarde of giggling girls, not even a week after breaking-up with me ("dumping" is such a harsh word). I had climbed on the next bus to come along, having refused to get on the same one as him, and willed myself not to cry for the whole ride. I didn't. In fact, I'd managed to bury my heartache so deeply that by the time I got home, it was nothing more that a grumble in the bottom of my stomach. I had even begun to think about what I wanted to do that night instead. But the moment I stepped through the front door, my mother took one look at me and asked me if I needed a hug. I told her I didn't and then burst into tears. She's not a stranger, but it's the same effect. Mother knows best, I suppose.