Stanley forced a smile to his lips at the memory of the onesided romance; it was silly, after all, a stupid childhood crush. Whoβd fall in love with a fictional character? That was the kind of thing you laughed about as an adult. Or at least Harriet had thought so. He couldnβt quite do it, though. Couldnβt quite see it as a joke. It had felt too real, too raw and wild and fierce, for him to dismiss it even now. It was love, of a sort, stunted and unformed as it was. For a time, it had kept him sane.