I do not know the proper response, except to be calm on the surface. I bury myself in little projects, little tasks of things I've been meaning to but haven't and now I have the drive. I bury myself. Busy myself. And along the road I see flashbacks of my visits here before. I remember the letter I wrote. Not the words exactly, but the childish print and the blind honesty only a child can say. I remember the bag on the foot of the stairs. I remember walking into a condo, or apartment, or whatever it was. In my mind is a photograph never taken, the details gone, but the emotions quite vivid. In hindsight, there is a lot I don't remember. Snippits that I do. I remember writing a lot, because that's what I do. I remember how long it took to get over it. How years later, I'd wonder. I'd be inquisitive to be annoying. I'm a snoop and a bold one, at that. There was little I didn't dare explore. I should have know it, might have known it. The password, the furniture...but after all, it had been years and I had finally restored my trust. It all had a very personal, unique affect on me. I think each of us took from it a very different lesson. I don't even attribute it to age, but to what each of us witnessed or were subjected to. Regardless of our part, it was--it is--treacherous and damaging to all. I know the Lady understands him, I can assume that she, my Athena, will face him boldly. And I...I'll have to get over so many things, but first I'll have to register the truth. The change. The reality of it. It will be hard to see my little girl's hero through the man with two faces.