I knew that he had that stash of magazines in the basement. I tried to get him to throw them out when we moved in together. The war wasn’t worth it,...but I still resented them. What if I became his dream girl? His personal fantasy girl? My mind swirled at the implications. Once in a while, I would open our wedding album and I always felt amazed at how we both looked in them. When we looked at them together, we would both become more romantic, playful and thoughtful with each other. What if…? I. ”“Okay.”I felt a huge wash of relief. The first hurdle had been cleared. Acceptance was there.“Okay,” I said. “Now, what makes somebody a hero?”“You already said that, Daddy,” said June, patiently. “It’s when somebody helps somebody else, and doesn’t care if they might get hurt in the process.”“That’s almost it,” I said. “It’s not that they don’t care if they get hurt. It’s that doing the right thing ... helping whoever needs help ... is the most important thing in that moment. They give of. More

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