“There are infinite paths, my Juliette. People would go mad if they could see them all, so we’re given one station to tune into.” Her smile grew. She looked pleased with her explanation. “But you, for some reason, can catch glimpses of the other channels while you’re still here, in your main station.”
I stopped pacing and stared at her.Nana had officially lost it. Was this the part where I called for an ambulance? Maybe there was a family discount if we both checked in together.
“You’re telling me my daydreams are… what? Glimpses of other realities?”
She kept that peaceful smile. “That’s exactly what they are, dear.”
I shook my head, laughing bitterly as I knelt down to gather the clothes I’d thrown all over the floor.
“This is ridiculous, Nana,” I muttered. The sight of the mess overwhelmed me. What was I even doing? I shoved a dress back onto a hanger, then another, trying to restore some order, even if it was just to my closet. “It’s a condition. Maladaptive daydreaming.”.
“That’s what people who can’t see want to call it,” she replied softly.
I yanked another hanger off the floor, my hands trembling.
“I can’t see other realities,” I snapped, mocking as I said the wordrealities.But I wasn’t trying to convince her. I was trying to convince myself. When I turned around, she wasn’t on the bed anymore. She was standing right next to me.
I hadn’t even heard her move.
Her soft, wrinkled hand brushed against my cheek, and it sent a shiver through me. There was something about her smile that made my heart skip a beat.
“If you can’t see other realities,” Nana paused, “then how are you seeing one where I’m still here?”
The words hit me like a tsunami, pulling the ground out from under me. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break through my chest. It was like the air in the room had been completely sucked out. I didn’t dare try to inhale.
No, no, no.
I looked at her, into her deep, knowing eyes, and I knew. I knew exactly what this was and why she was here. Desperately, I glanced down at my palms, searching for the marks left by my nails from earlier—the ones Iknewshould be there. But there was nothing. My skin was smooth and unbroken.
"I'm..." I could barely get the words out. My hands shook as I reached for hers.
She smiled. That soft, knowing smile that always brought me peace, even when everything else in my life was chaos. Of course, this was the face I brought for when everything fell apart and my family broke apart.
"I'm day—" The word caught in my throat. I couldn't say it. But she nodded slowly, that smile never fading.
I gently pulled Nana’s hand away from my face, turning toward the vanity with a sudden, frantic urgency. It was like something was guiding me there, and my movements were almost automatic. I yanked open the drawers, tossing aside jewelry and accessories, my breath shallow and my hands trembling. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for until I found it.
There it was.
I stared at the framed wedding picture of George and me, the one that always left a dull ache in my chest whenever I saw it. The sadness had always felt heavier than the simple weight of a failed marriage. It had always felt like something more, something I couldn’t quite name. My fingers hesitated, hovering over the photo, before I lifted it slowly. Beneath it, hidden away, was a folded piece of paper.
A sharp buzzing filled my ears, drowning out everything else. My vision tunneled, the rest of the room fading away as my focus locked on that single piece of paper. My body resisted, every muscle tightening as my mind screamed at me to stop.
Don’t look.
But I couldn’t stop. Not looking wouldn't change a thing. I already knew what I was doing.
My fingers trembled as I gently placed the picture back on the vanity, the frame landing with a soft thud that felt louder than it should. Carefully, I picked up the paper. It washeavier in my hands than a single sheet had any right to be. Slowly—so slowly, like taking my time might change what was waiting for me—I turned it over. And there it was.
A memorial card.
The elegant script. The beautiful photo of Nana smiling softly as though she knew something the rest of us didn’t. The air rushed out of my lungs. I clutched the card tightly to my chest, my hands trembling so hard it was a miracle I didn’t crush it. The ache in my chest grew sharper.
Finally, the words broke free from me, “I’m daydreaming.”
I sank down, the words hitting me hard. She had been gone for so long, but the moment life became too much, my mind went searching for her. For my synonym of comfort and safety. I knew it was a coping mechanism, a daydream stitched together by grief. But over time, she'd felt so real, I'd let myself believe.
The tears came, hot and relentless, blurring my vision until the memorial card was a smudge against my chest. I pressed it tighter to my heart, squeezing my eyes shut as if I could will her back if I held on hard enough. I didn’t want to turn around. I couldn’t. I knew what I would see—or wouldn’t see. But I had to.
