I Wish It Were Fiction

Am I dreaming?┬áMy muscles stiffen as I listen. Fighting back the haze of sleep, I struggle to open my eyes and reach to the other side of the bed. He isn’t there. That noise must be him making breakfast.

A few deep breaths and hard blinks and I’m awake enough to swing my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe he dropped something. I listen. The noise doesn’t stop. A cacophony of clanging and thumping continues to carry down the hallway. I swear, if he wakes up the baby…

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