He took their son with him—and it was only a dream…
Emily met William at a dance in the local pub. He noticed her right away—a tall, slender girl with a bright laugh and lively eyes. He stayed by her side all evening, then offered to walk her home.
“Shall we meet tomorrow for a stroll?” he asked as they parted.
“Come by,” she whispered, feeling her heart flutter.
That was how their story began. In a small village, gossip travels fast—soon everyone knew Emily had a suitor. Whispers followed:
“They’ll be married soon. He follows her like a lost puppy. A good match, both sensible folk.”
Before long, William proposed. They held a boisterous wedding, celebrated by the whole village. The newlyweds settled into the house William had built—he was a skilled craftsman, having worked on sites with his father since boyhood. Soon, their son was born. Life was good. At first.
But as time passed, William began lingering at the neighbours’—helping with odd jobs, fixing things. Often, they offered him a drink. Generously. At first, it seemed harmless, but gradually it became a habit.
“Will, enough of this,” Emily would say. “I’m tired of seeing you tipsy every night.”
“What’s the harm in sharing a drink? I take care of everything at home too.”
Their son grew older, Emily returned to work, leaving him with his grandmother. Meanwhile, William kept “helping.” But day by day, he stumbled home in worse condition. Cracks spread between them. Arguments flared. Once, they even separated for a week, but for their son’s sake, she forgave him. He promised to change. And for a while, he did. Until he didn’t.
Emily considered leaving many times. But their son adored his father. When sober, William spent hours with him—teaching, playing, building. For him, she endured. She still hoped: *Maybe he’ll come to his senses. Maybe the caring man I married will return.*
But years and exhaustion took their toll. William grew sullen, weak.
“Let’s see a doctor,” she urged.
“It’s nothing. I’ll rest—it’ll pass. I’m still young.”
He only went for tests when he could no longer rise from bed. The diagnosis was grim. The doctor shook his head.
“Why so late? I’m afraid there’s little time…”
Emily nursed him to the end. Pain, helplessness, tears—all tangled together. Then William was gone. The whole village came to his funeral. Even those who despised his drinking respected him as a man and a craftsman.
On the fortieth day, Emily dreamed of him. He stood in shadow and said,
“How’s life without me? Enjoy it while you can… But remember—I’ll take our son with me.”
She woke drenched in cold sweat, rushing to the nursery. Twelve-year-old Michael slept peacefully. She told no one of the dream, but from then on, she guarded him fiercely—watching, worrying, fearing every little thing. William never haunted her dreams again. The nightmare faded… but the dread lingered.
Six months later, Michael didn’t come home from school. A car. An accident. He was gone.
Emily shattered—pain clawing at her chest, choking her, stealing sleep. After the funeral, she barely spoke. Only months later did she learn to breathe again. Slowly, life crept back in.
She married a widower with two daughters. Tried to be a good mother. Later, they had a son together. Life, in a way, mended. But her heart never healed. Michael stayed with her—always. Her firstborn. Taken by his father. The man who once was her everything.
Now Emily has grandchildren. They visit, laugh, race across the garden. She smiles. But when Michael visits her dreams at night, she weeps. Because now she believes. Some dreams carry warnings. Yet almost nothing can be undone. All that’s left is to endure. And live… on.
