Page 18 of Broken Dream

As if I ever could.

Fucking psychiatry…

I scrape the etching of frost off my windshield, get into my car, and begin the drive. I almost wish for traffic, anything to stall my return to the silent townhome that’s now my existence.

I turn into my neighborhood. A family—a dad and two kids—plays in the snow.

A pang hits my chest.

I look away quickly, but the image is already seared into my mind. Such a sight should make me happy, but all I feel is sadness, regret, envy.

That was supposed to be my life.

Julia would be six now. Old enough to help me build a snowman, have a snowball fight.

Six.

At school already. Learning to read. Maybe playing soccer or T-ball.

She’d most likely have a sibling. Lindsay and I talked of filling our house with children.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Julia used to love the snow. She’d laugh when snowflakes hit her face. She would have loved building a snowman.

Winters were always cozy. I’d sit with Julia and read her favorite book. She loved when I did voices for the characters. That always sent her into fits of giggles.

Lindsay would watch us from the kitchen as she loaded the dishwasher. When she was done, she and I would put Julia to bed together, each of us kissing her good night and always remembering to leave her night-light on.

“So the monsters don’t get me, Daddy,” she’d say.

I’d give her belly a squeeze. “Daddy will never let any monster hurt his little girl.”

And she’d giggle as I closed the door, leaving it open just a crack.

My ghost of a life.

And the promise of something that will never be.

The monsters did get her. Just not in the way she feared.

I drive up to my townhome.

And there it is—the sense of dread. Every moment here is a constant reminder of their absence.

I pull into my garage and then walk around to pull the trash cans in.

And I hold back a breath when I see her.

Angie Simpson, a few homes down.

She’s pulling in her own garbage can.

Does she live here?

She’s a first-year medical student. Has she lived here since the beginning of the school year and I’ve never known?

I watch as she wrestles with the bulky bin, a stray strand of hair escaping from her ponytail. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold.