Nightmares

Each night, we return to this spot. My bed. California king. No headboard. No decor. Just white. Cream. Soft and cool. Me and my boys. No Daddy.

He works 7 days straight and then he’s off for 7 days. Second shift. Us eating dinner alone. Bath time. Teeth brushing. Story time. Me and my two young kids at the mercy of my intentions, my mood.

Last night, I dreamt of a sad woman who entered our home and chased me around trying to stab me when I tried to help her. My kids were asleep, and I was praying to anyone that would hear me that they would not wake up and be found out. I woke up sweating and petrified, ready to hang up the security cameras we bought but never installed, feeling like live bait in a trap.

Without my husband here, I feel vulnerable and exposed. Like everyone in town knows his car is gone. Knows his schedule. Knows I’m here alone with two kids. I’m tiny. They know that, too.

What they don’t know is I have a shotgun and a pistol here. Let’s hope no one has to find out.

I’m feeling fatigued and out of my element right now. A little lost in limbo. I want to crawl back into the comfort of my husband’s arms. I want to sleep sweetly knowing our kids and pets are safe, warm, and happy, dreaming of fluttering butterflies and vast oceans. Running and dancing and breathing in the sweet floral aromas from our big back yard. I hope I can find myself there, too, in my dreams. No more nightmares. Please.