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“Did you have a nice nap, Alex dear?” Memaw asks.

My voice cracks.  My throat is dry, but I don’t want anything to drink at this point.  “I did.  Interesting how well you can sleep when you’re emotionally and physically exhausted,” I admit.

“No nightmares?” Papa interjects.

I shake my head.  “Not this time.”

He nods.  “Good girl.”  I can see his lips curve into a smile.  “Therapy seems to be helping you.”

I glance out of the window.  I’m not sure that it’s the therapy as much as it is Drew Foster.  The few times I don’t have nightmares have been replaced with dreams that consist of white horses, carriages, glass slippers, and a certain prince charming.  The thought makes me smile.  “Sure,” I acknowledge.  Maybe it’s the combo.  I’ll let them believe what they want.  I’ll believe what I want.  The true therapy is Drew.

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