07~Six Years Later

[Emily]

It was always the same dream. The same alley, the same sound of a gunshot tearing through the silence, the same pool of blood spreading like a dark secret no one's supposed to see.

And me, I was frozen, useless, breathless.

The ending is a different twist from reality, but it’s always the same.

I scream, “Stop! Please...” but it's always too late. The man turns, his ice-blue eyes locking on mine; he points the gun at me and pulls the trigger.

And just like that, I wake up screaming.

My heart’s hammering so hard I swear the neighbours can probably hear it. My T-shirt’s stuck to me with sweat, and for a second, I don’t even remember where I am. Then a tiny, sleepy voice pulls me back to reality.

“Mommy?”

I look down to see Hayden, my six-year-old, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking out in all directions like he fought a war with his pillow.

“Hey, baby,” I breathe, forcing a shaky smile. “Bad dream, that’s all.”

“You were screaming, mommy,” he says, climbing onto my bed and curling up beside me. “Was it the monster again?”

I pull him close, kissing his forehead. He smells like baby shampoo and safety. “Yeah. The same one, but mommy’s okay now.”

He peers up at me, a cute replica of me with his brown eyes, not blue, thank God, and smiles sleepily. “You should tell him to go away.”

“I’m trying, baby”, I mutter, glancing at the clock on my bedside table.

7:32 a.m. Shit!

My eyes widen. “Oh, no, no, no, we’re late!”

I jump out of bed. Hayden giggles as I trip over the pile of laundry I swore I’d fold last night.

“Go brush your teeth, kiddo!” I shout, pulling my hair into a messy bun that screams ‘mom on a mission’

Our apartment is small: two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen that barely fits a dining table, but it’s ours. The rent’s manageable, and the leaky faucet only sometimes sounds like a dying whale. It’s a modest life, tucked away in the heart of New Orleans, and most days, it’s enough.

I rush to the kitchen and start my morning routine, making a hot cup of coffee, frying some eggs, and toasting bread. But the most fun part is always Hayden singing the ABCs in a very off-key manner. It seems to have become a ritual now since he does it every morning.

“Hayden! Shoes!” I yell.

“They’re running away!” He yells back.

I turn to find him looking for one sneaker under the couch. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” I mumble before helping him put them on.

He grins, flashing me a smile with a missing tooth. “You’re lucky you’re my mom.”

“Smooth talker,” I tease, ruffling his hair.

Breakfast is quick. I shove his lunchbox into his bag, grab mine, and we’re out the door like a chaotic duo with mother-son energy.

“Good morning, Mary”, I greet my old friend, Mary, whom I’ve known ever since I was a Kid. She was an absolute lifesaver when I moved back here and never judged me for my predicament.

“Oh, Emily, Hayden, I thought you’d already left.” Hayden pushes past me and rushes to her arms, giving her a tight embrace. He loves her so much.

“Forgot to set the alarm. We’ll be hurrying up then.” I pull Hayden as they whisper their goodbyes.

The morning air is cool when we step out, and the streets are buzzing with people going about their business. Our little neighbourhood isn’t all that fancy, but it’s homey, just the right place to raise a kid.

We make it to Bayview Elementary just before the first bell rings.

“Hey, Ms Matthews!” Mrs Graham, Hayden’s teacher, calls from the gate. “Cutting it close again?”

“Just keeping life exciting,” I say with a grin.

She laughs. “Hayden’s a gem. Don’t worry, we’ve got him.”

I kneel to kiss my son’s cheek. “Be good today, okay?”

He nods solemnly. “Promise. Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you more.”

I wave as he runs inside, his backpack bouncing. That kid is my entire world, no matter the chaos he’s brought to my life.

Now it’s my turn to face the battlefield, which is the bus ride to LensCorp.

The bus is, as always, packed tighter than a can of sardines. I grab the pole and try not to inhale too deeply because, dear God, someone’s emitting a foul smell that is enough to kill someone like me.

A large man stands in front of me, taking up most of the space. He’s way too close than needed, and that makes me anxious.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, trying to adjust, but he grunts. That’s it. Just…grunts.

I sigh and mutter loud enough for him to hear. “Right. I’ll stand here and pretend you’re not squishing me to death.”

As the bus lurches forward, I can’t help but think about my life like I always do.