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墨書 Inktalez
I quickened my pace to the car, swiftly getting in and locking the doors. As I inserted the key into the ignition, a familiar figure seemed to flash in the rearview mirror—a woman whose outline resembled mine. But when I turned to check the back seat, it was empty.
"Calm down, Anna," I told myself. "It's just work stress and fatigue."
On the drive home, my thoughts kept drifting back to Lily's nightmare. Children's dreams often reflect their inner fears or uncertainties. What did it mean that Lily dreamed of "another mommy"? Was it some projection of her feelings about my busy work schedule and the time I spent away from her? Or was she expressing a fear of change?
Our neighborhood was located in the northern part of the city, a quiet residential area with neat houses and well-trimmed lawns. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed the lights in our home were still on, and the curtains in the living room swayed gently. My home, my sanctuary—at least it should be. But why did I feel a moment of strangeness every time I returned lately, as if I were stepping into a meticulously arranged stage rather than a space that truly belonged to me?
I shook my head, dismissing the absurd thought. Opening the front door, warm light enveloped me immediately, and a faint scent of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen—Mark must have baked Lily's favorite cinnamon rolls in an attempt to soothe her.
"I'm home," I said softly as I set down my bag and keys.
Mark peeked down from upstairs, relief evident on his face. "Thank God," he whispered. "She just calmed down; she's asleep on our bed now."
I took off my coat and hurried upstairs. The bedroom door was ajar, and under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Lily's small figure curled up in the center of our large bed, her golden curls spread out on the pillow like a halo of soft light. Watching her sleep, a wave of fierce protectiveness and love surged within me.
"What did she say?" I asked Mark quietly as he stood behind me, his hand gently resting on my shoulder.
"Intermittently," he shrugged. "Most of it was about 'another mommy' living in a special room that you don't know about. Kids' imaginations can be terrifyingly vivid sometimes."
I frowned. "A special room? What does she mean by that?"
Mark shook his head. "I asked, but she couldn't explain it clearly. You know how chaotic children's dreams can be." He paused, his tone turning concerned. "You look exhausted, Ann; is your headache acting up again?"
I nodded, and Mark immediately went to the bathroom to fetch some pain relievers and a glass of water. He was always so thoughtful, anticipating my needs and caring for my health. We had met ten years ago at a neuroscience conference; he was an engineer developing medical software while I was just starting my career as a researcher. Our marriage had always been seen by friends as a model—supporting each other, understanding one another, growing together.
But recently, something had begun to change.
"How is your research progressing?" Mark asked as he gently massaged my temples. "What about that breakthrough case you mentioned, M-734?"
I closed my eyes, enjoying his massage. "There has been progress, but more data is needed. If successful, it will revolutionize trauma treatment."
Mark's fingers paused briefly at my temples before continuing their work. "You will succeed," he said with an odd certainty in his voice. "You always manage to do what others think is impossible."
His words stirred an inexplicable unease within me. It was praise, yet why did it feel like confirmation of something? I opened my eyes to find Mark gazing intently at me; there was an emotion in his deep brown eyes that I couldn't decipher.
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