It starts with a dream.
I’m standing in the lake house, but it’s not the lake house.
The walls are thinner.
The windows are cracked.
The dock stretches out into fog.
Marcus is at the end of it, back turned.
Zara is on the porch, suitcase in hand.
I try to call out, but my voice won’t carry.
When I wake up, my heart is pounding.
Marcus is asleep beside me, breathing evenly.
The house is quiet.
Safe.
Solid.
I tell myself that.
Still, something lingers.
Not fear.
Not panic.
But a question.
What happens when you finally stop fighting?
The next morning, I sit at the kitchen island with coffee, staring at the calendar.
Oxford rotation in three months.
Community center expansion in two.
Zara’s art showcase in six weeks.
Marcus’s new mentorship pilot launching in November.
