For the first time in six months, Daniel didn’t wake up with a stone in his stomach.
He woke up to the smell of burnt toast and the sound of the shower running. The sunlight was filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the duvet. He stretched, feeling a lightness in his limbs that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam rolled out, followed by Julia. She was wrapped in a towel, her hair wet and messy, humming an off-key version of a Fleetwood Mac song.
Daniel stared at her, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
“Julia?” he croaked, his voice thick with sleep.
She turned, toothbrush in her mouth, and raised an eyebrow. “Morning, sleepyhead. You almost missed the alarm. I burned the toast again, sorry.”
Daniel scrambled out of bed and crossed the room in two strides, wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face in her damp neck, inhaling the scent of her vanilla body wash. It was real. She was warm. She was solid.
“Whoa, okay,” she laughed, muffling the sound against his shoulder. “What’s brought this on?”
“I had a nightmare,” Daniel whispered, holding her tighter. “God, Jules, it was awful. I dreamed… I dreamed you were sick. I dreamed we went to the hospital and you never came home. It felt so real.”
She pulled back gently, cupping his face in her hands. Her eyes were bright and alive. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”
“It was,” he said, a sob catching in his throat. “I thought I lost you. I thought I had to live the rest of my life without you.”
She smiled, that crooked smile that he loved more than anything. “It was all just a bad dream,” she soothed, kissing his forehead. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. They never really left this earth.”
Daniel closed his eyes, letting the relief wash over him like cool water. How amazing would it be to feel this relief forever? To know that the darkness was just a trick of the mind.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” she whispered. “Now wake up.”
Daniel frowned. “What?”
“Wake up, Daniel.”
The voice changed. It wasn’t Julia’s voice anymore. It was a shrill, rhythmic beeping.
Daniel’s eyes snapped open.
He was staring at the ceiling fan. It was still. The room was dark, save for the gray light of pre-dawn filtering through the blinds. The bathroom door was closed. The shower was dry. The air smelled stale, not like vanilla or burnt toast.
He reached his hand out to the other side of the bed. The sheets were cold. Smooth. Empty.
The crushing weight returned to his chest instantly, heavier than before. The realization hit him with the violence of a physical blow: The hospital happened. The funeral happened. The silence was real.
He lay there, staring at the empty space beside him, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes into his ears. He realized that the nightmare wasn’t the dream where she died. The nightmare was waking up.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to force his brain back into the illusion, praying to fall asleep and wake up only to realize that this—the empty bed, the silent house, the grief—was the lie.
But the sun continued to rise, indifferent to his pain, dragging him into another day where the only place she existed was in the cruel mercy of his dreams.
