But here she is. And I listened, really listened to her, accepting all the words. But I feel nothing but relief. Now I'm being honest with her, and with myself. The issue is settled and closed. Now I can safely say that I left Melissa behind.

“You lost the right to touch me twelve years ago,” I say calmly, measuredly. I don't want to (almost) raise my voice at her, put pressure on her morally. How not to behave aggressively in front of a stranger. I even free my hand without unnecessary movements, gently unclenching her fingers. “Believe it or not, I hate your touch.” It's disgusting to have you...