We walk, Michael holding my hand, along a wild track, high in the mountains. Rambling between forest and green meadows which slope down to the lake, just being here is a balm to my black mood. And Michael, with his unconditional support, and lack of pressure, is soothing company.
We sit on an old stump. Michael pours me coffee from a flask, which I accept, then offers me a sandwich, which I do not.
“Thanks, I´m not hungry."
“Charlotte, you´ve got to eat, or you´re no good to anyone, least of all yourself." He presses the food onto me. Reluctantly I take it, fighting my churning stomach, to choke down small bites.
Nonetheless, the walk calms me. Clouds scud across the sky, casting light and shade across the meadows. The lake sparkles in the sunshine, the waters rippling with a shimmerin
