Chris hesitated, then took a bite and immediately regretted it. He held the rest of it out toward me, wincing like I poisoned him.
“Don’t make me eat more. It’s…”
“Terrible, I know,” I finished for him, rolling my eyes. He laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. It didn’t take long for the laughter to fade, replaced by something heavier as our eyes locked. That pull between us was back, the one I couldn’t seem to escape. When we were this close, it took over.
“Why can’t we make this work?” Chris murmured.
My mind instantly jumped to the list. Oh, there were plenty of reasons. Reason one: he was an asshole. Not all the time, sure, but often enough. And I couldn’t afford that kind of chaos. Reason two: my kids. I had to protect them from the whole celebrity circus. That kind of life? Paparazzi, constant scrutiny? It was the opposite of what I wanted for them—or for myself, honestly. Reason three: I was too broken. Years of living in a haze, half-asleep and half-awake, had left me barely holding myself together. The idea of taking on hisasshole-building traumaswhen I could barely handle my own? No way. There was no point in saying any of it, though. No point in listing all the ways we would never work.
Whatever life we shared in our dreams could never exist here. Maybe if we had met sooner, like in the dreams, we wouldn’t have been so shattered. Maybe we could’ve helped each other heal and grow together instead of apart. But “maybes” had no place in a single mom’s life.
“You should sleep,” I could barely get the words out. “It’sthe weekend, so the kids won’t be up until nine or ten. Just… try to leave before then.”
He leaned in, and I thought about resisting. For a second, I told myself to turn away, to shut it down. But I knew this would probably be the last time I ever saw him. I might as well get one last kiss. His lips brushed against mine, soft and hesitant at first. Then a little firmer. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that made the world fade away. It was the kind that made youawareof everything—the air between us, the heat of his body close to mine, his beard brushing my skin.
He pulled back, and we stayed close for a while, our foreheads resting together. I wanted to touch his face, feel my fingers weave through his beard again, and let him pull me closer until nothing else mattered. Yet, I couldn’t.
My breathing was unsteady from the thought alone when I whispered, “I can’t do this… be the movie star’s girlfriend.”
Chris leaned back and met my gaze, looking almost sober, his eyes clearer.
“But you are. You are the movie star’s… wife.”
Wife. The weight of the word crushed my chest.
I wanted so badly to be that person we’d been dreaming about. The version of myself that felt whole, light, and joyful. I felt myself almost slipping into a daydream. I wanted to remember what it looked like. It had been so long since I got sucked up into one. The edges of reality blurred like I was stepping out of my body.No. Not now.I curled my fingers into my palms, pressing my nails hard into the skin. I needed to stay present to finish this.
“Not here, I’m not,” I said softly, my hand reaching for his face. My fingers gently traced the lines of his jaw, memorizing every detail. I wanted to take it all in. The daydreams weren’t enough anymore. I wanted real memories. Something to hold onto when this all inevitably disappeared. Chris caught my hand before I reached his neck. His eyesdropped to my palm, and I realized what he was looking at—the angry half-moon marks pressed into my skin. His thumb brushed over them, then he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. Once. Twice.
“Don’t,” he whispered against my skin. “I’m here.” Another kiss, this one lingering. “I hate when you do that,” he said louder this time, his eyes locking onto mine. I gave him a sad smile. I knew that it meant he used to see me do it in our shared dream, because, in reality, I was pretty sure I’d never done it in front of him before.
I pulled my hand back and rose from the couch. Our fingers slowly slipped away from each other.
“Get some rest,” I murmured. Then I turned and walked toward the stairs, leaving him there alone. Halfway up, I paused, brushing my fingers over my lips. I could still feel him there, the ghost of his kiss. It was comforting. It was painful.
I wokeup to the cheerful clatter of kitchen utensils and the unmistakable sound of my children’s laughter. My wild and bright copper hair had fallen across my face, covering my eyes. I brushed it aside, blinking awake as a smile tugged at my lips. The room I was in stopped me in my tracks. I sat up slowly, taking in the elegant, surreal space around me. The bed was massive, with luxurious bedding, and framed by a vintage and expensive canopy. A chandelier sparkled in the soft morning light, the sun’s narrow rays catching on the crystals and scattering reflections across the ceiling.
“That’s great!” Chris’ voice floated up from downstairs. I froze for a second, letting the sound of his voice sink in. And then laughter. The kind of carefree, joyful sound that felt likehome. My chest tightened as I listened, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“I think that’s enough chocolate chips!” he called out, his tone half-serious, half-laughing. The sound of little giggles followed.
I stretched, still savoring the comfort of the bed. My hair brushed against my back as I sat up. It was incredibly soft. Then, my eyes fell on something across the room.
A picture frame.
It sat on a dresser made of real, polished wood. I focused on the photograph. It was a photograph of Chris and me. We were in full glam mode. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, his lips pressed softly to mine. We looked so… in love.
“You’re not here.”A voice in my head whispered. The smile faded from my face, and I looked down at my hands, my palms soft and unmarked. No scars, no red crescents left behind by nails digging in too deep.
I pressed my nails into them—hard.Nothing.
Panic bubbled in my chest as my eyes darted around the room. Suddenly, everything shifted. The vibrant colors of the walls and furniture dulled like someone had drained the life out of them. I blinked hard, the picture frame on the dresser wavered, and the image dissolved into a fog. One by one, the luxurious pieces of the room melted away.
And then I woke up. I was in my real bed, my breath coming fast and shallow. My heart pounded as reality slammed into me like stepping off a violent roller coaster. My palms were in my lap, and I turned them over, staring. This time, the crescent marks were there. Slightly red lines dug deep into the skin, overlapping with the older, already faded scars. But the sounds were still there—Chris’ voice, the laughter of children. I stayed still, waiting, hoping they’d fade away like the rest. Then… I heard it again.
“Grab me those. Yeah! Thanks,” his voice called out, clear and unmistakable, coming from the kitchen.
This wasn’t a dream. It wasreal.
