From my bedroom window, I hadn’t noticed his earring and the Motörhead tattoo on his forearm. He looked like the kind of guy who, if a bomb went off in his watering can, would raise one eyebrow and say, ‘Well, that was close.

to be in charge. To be the wise owl. The comforter. I felt I’d moved beyond that. Gained my own wisdom. Found comfort in my own company. In just being me. The long healing process was at an end, hastened by these few days of sunshine and blissful solitude.