He is the hero of my mind’s eye, tall and strong – sometimes thick and solid as an oak tree, sometimes lean and spry – always older and wiser, a...d always so strong. He doesn’t speak much but his voice is deep and slightly rough, his hair is wild, dark and curly – his eyes, always blue or gray or green, bore into my sole and read every thought. He scoops me up as though I weigh nothing and holds me so close. Where he carries me depends on my mood. If I’m still angry at this point, still hurt. Doris Alex looked after her thoughtfully. ‘You should fight for her,’ she said finally. ‘Alyssa?’ ‘Melisa,’ she said shaking her head and turning towards me. ‘You should fight for her.’ ‘I didn’t know I had to.’ ‘Rachel is trying to draw her away from you.’ ‘No, Doris Alex,’ I said. ‘Melisa is drawing away from me.’ ‘Only because you won’t bring her back,’ Doris Alex insisted. I shrugged. ‘You have to say yes when I ask,’ I said. ‘But that doesn’t mean you’re hoping I’ll ask.’ ‘Melisa belongs. More

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