Part 1After She Was Gone

I felt a gentle hand stroking my cheek.

Was it my wife, Sarah?

How could it be?

Sarah died just a few days ago.

My heart leaped in shock, and I forced my eyes open.

Going from darkness to sudden light stung my eyes.

I squinted, uncomfortable, but desperate to see the person by the bed.

* * *

She stood bathed in what felt like an explosion of white light, her form hazy, almost a silhouette.

As the stinging faded and my vision cleared, her features sharpened.

Delicate eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes, and that habit of pressing her lips together slightly before breaking into a smile.

It really was Sarah!

Was she alive, or was I dead?

Is this a dream?

I stared, dumbfounded, at the living, breathing person before me. Then I heard her say, "It's almost seven. Get up, Sleepyhead, Andy."

Sleepyhead, Andy. Hearing that familiar nickname, tears rolled down my cheeks without me even realizing it.

I scrambled up and pulled my wife into a fierce hug.

Through my own sobbing, I felt her warmth seep into me, heard her slightly exasperated voice asking what was wrong, right beside my ear.

After a long moment, I managed to calm down.

Right now, I couldn't tell if Sarah dying in that plane crash was real, or just a terrible nightmare I’d had.

I told her about it. She listened, laughing softly, then gently wiped the tears from my face—

"You dream about what you worry about, huh? 'Fess up, did you take out a big life insurance policy on me?"

Hearing that, I laughed and pulled her close again, overwhelmed by the happiness of having her back, of loss reversed.

I breathed in her familiar scent, sighing, "I was so scared of losing you..."

Sarah patted my back comfortingly. "It was just a nightmare. You're awake now, it's okay."

She gently pulled away. "Come on, get up, or you'll be late."

I grabbed my phone and checked the date again: December 5th, 2022, 7:03 AM.

I vaguely remembered sitting by Sarah’s headstone, seeing the engraved letters.

Sarah Miller (November 15, 1993 – December 5, 2022)

A wave of confusion washed over me.

...Was it really just a nightmare?

I swung my legs out of bed and followed Sarah, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, then touch her hand.

She turned and hugged me, resting her chin on my chest—

"Andy, I would never, ever leave you like that. It was just a dream."

"When you wake up, the pain from the dream fades away. Can you even clearly remember how it felt now?"

I tried hard to recall the feelings from the dream.

Seeing the news about the missing plane, watching her casket... no, the container with her ashes being prepared for interment, sitting on the damp, cold ground staring at her grave marker.

All that crushing grief… it was starting to feel distant, fuzzy.

I slowly shook my head.

Seeing me shake my head, Sarah slipped out of my arms and headed towards the kitchen. "Then hurry up and get ready! Breakfast is almost done. I made pancakes."

She stood at the kitchen doorway and gave me a playful wink.

Shaking off the lingering confusion, I asked, "Did you use hot water for the mix, or cold?"

Sarah hesitated. "Cold... water? Isn't cold better for dissolving the powder?"

I walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid off the pan on the stove.

A puff of steam cleared to reveal… well, a soupy, slightly sad-looking pancake.

She looked up at me sheepishly—

"Whoops, sorry! I just thought since you were working late, I’d make breakfast so you could sleep in a bit longer."

Working late?

Suddenly, I remembered a detail from the nightmare.

In the dream, I’d also had to work late, forcing me to cancel my ticket. I couldn't go with Sarah on the plane.

That flight to Boston… I remembered it was at 2 PM.

I walked to the kitchen doorway and looked into the living room.

Just like in the dream, there was a half-packed, open suitcase lying next to the sofa.

My voice urgent, I asked, "Is it the two o'clock flight?"

Sarah looked at me, puzzled, but nodded.

A cold dread started spreading from the pit of my stomach.

Could the plane crash, just like in my dream, actually happen?