Melissa boarded the plane expecting an ordinary flight home, not a collision with her past. But when the pilot introduced himself, her pulse stumbled. His name tugged at a memory she thought time had buried. Could the man behind that calm voice really be the teenager she once fought to save?
Melissa had always been the kind of woman people turned to in times of trouble. At 52, she’d built a reputation as one of the most compassionate judges in the family court system, someone who believed that even the most broken situations could be mended with patience and understanding.
“Melissa, you’re too soft,” her colleague Sandra often teased her during lunch breaks at the courthouse. “One of these days, someone’s going to take advantage of that big heart of yours.”
Melissa would just smile and shake her head.
“I’d rather believe in people and be wrong once in a while than stop believing altogether.”
That philosophy extended beyond the courtroom.
In her neighborhood, Melissa was known as the woman who always had cookies ready for the kids who knocked on her door, the one who listened when teenagers needed advice, and the first to volunteer when someone needed help.
The neighborhood children would wave enthusiastically whenever they saw her walking her golden retriever, Max, down the tree-lined street.
“Can Max come play with us?” little Emma from next door would call out.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Melissa would reply. “Just make sure you’re gentle with him. He’s getting older, just like me.”
Her husband, Robert, often marveled at how she never seemed to run out of energy for others.
He was her anchor, a calm and steady presence who had supported her through 28 years of marriage.
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