Hope

I wake with the taste of his name on my lips. Keith.

For a moment, I don’t move. I lie still in the bed, eyes closed, desperate to pull the dream back to me before it fades.

It had been so vivid—his hand warm in mine, his laugh rumbling through the valley air, the sun catching in his dark hair.

We were making plans. A house near the river. A future that felt real enough to touch.

Then the cold stone beneath me reminds me of where I am. Not by a river. Not free.

I open my eyes to the same pale ceiling, the same gilded cage they...