Arthur's face was nestled against my chest, sleeping soundly like a child.

I suddenly jolted awake.

He rubbed his eyes and asked what was wrong.

“I had a nightmare,” I said.

He smiled gently. “Silly, what nightmare?”

“I dreamt that you killed my mother.”

The air fell into a deathly silence.

He was suddenly drenched in sweat.

“Dreams aren’t real,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

After that night, I almost always had nightmares.

For instance, Arthur would be embracing Tiffany, reveling right before me.

Or Arthur would throw my ring into the lake just to please his woman.

Arthur said these were merely the lingering effects of my...