I closed my eyelids over tears, and buried my head deeper into the pillow until he finally came into the room.

“You flopped all over the bed, so I moved to the couch where I could get some sleep,” he whined. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

I untangled myself from the bedclothes wrapped around my legs, shivering harder when the soaked collar of my pajamas touched my neck and mumbled something about being sick. I figured a fever was the only explanation for cold sweats. I wrapped the covers around me and snuggled back into the pillow.

Then I remembered the dream, and understood that neither a fever nor the frigid temperature in the house had caused the chills. I thought he might laugh if I told him I had only had a nightmare. But if I didn’t tell him, he would surely wonder why I was behaving so strangely.

I rehearsed the words in my head until I thought I could say them in a voice that didn’t sound childish. “I had a nightmare. I saw a murder, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

Author Bio