The first email gave me a false sense of security that today was improving, with the next five I opened all urgent problems that need solving. I was deep into writing a very curt and straight-to-the-point reply to one of our managers at the hotel in Berlin, when Felisha walked into the room, and when I looked up at her, she looked shocked.

“You look like shit this morning. What the hell happened last night? Do I need to go and sort out my future brother-in-law and move you into my apartment?”

“Great, that’s the second time I’ve been told I look like shit today.” I stop typing to look up at her properly.

“Christ, who the hell said that to you, besides me? And you know I love you and that it comes from a good place when I’m honest with you.” Felisha is disapproving that someone was awful to me.

“Don’t worry, it was only me. One look in the mirror this morning and I knew I needed more makeup than I probably owned to fix this,” I say, waving my hand in front of my face. “But obviously, I didn’t do a good enough job.”

“Oh shush, no one else will notice except me because I’ve been looking at that beautiful face since pre-puberty, and I know when something isn’t right.” Closing the door behind her, she moves toward my desk, taking the seat in front of me.

“Well, as much as he grinds my gears, it wasn’t really Forrest.” I try to maintain my calmness because I will not cry this makeup off and let the real world see the mess I am underneath it. And to be honest, I don’t have a spare hour today to fix it either. “The dream’s back.” That is all I have to say for her face to turn from one of anger, like she was ready to hunt down Forrest and give him a piece of her mind, to one of sadness because she knows exactly the dream I’m talking about.

“Oh, Harper, babe, I’m so sorry this is happening again.”

I couldn’t have gotten through that time in my life without Felisha, and I leaned on her so much that she knows every part of the pain and mental anguish I suffered. She held me at night when I was screaming in my sleep for my father, sobbing because he wasn’t coming back.