Waverly
Meeting Melody’s uncle was unsettling. I had never met anyone with such a magnetic presence. Yes, he’s a good-looking man, but there’s just something about him that awoke… a voice within me, someone I hadn’t heard from in so long. It was a voice reminding me I was a woman, not just a mother and wife.
In some shape or form, I’ve been a mother for twenty-two years. Ever since I started my internship at the behavioral mental health in Syracuse, I’ve taken care of people. Gretchen jokingly calls me a martyr.
"And I want to remind you, dear, that martyrs are usually burned at the stake or nailed to a wooden cross,” she would say with her usual acerbic wit. “Your world doesn’t need to revolve around your husband and kids.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” I’d respond with an eyeroll. “You
