he knew she tried to be happy about the pregnancy, to compartmentalize her pain over losing her parents and focus instead on the impending birth, he sensed she was only going through the motions. Her smiles had been too bright, her enthusiasm not quite genuine.
He thought the birth of their daughter would jolt her out of the sadness she couldn’t shake. Instead, what he understood now was postpartum depression had hit her hard.
Treatment and therapy had helped, but Elizabeth never quite returned to the woman she’d been the first year of their marriage.
Time would heal, the therapists said, and he held on to that, praying they could find each other again once things returned to normal.
When she told him she wanted to have another baby, he resisted hard, but eventually she had worn him down and convinced him things would be different this time, that it would be the best thing for their marriage.
It hadn’t been. The next two years were hell. This time the postpartum hit with harsh ferocity. After Bridger was born, she had days when she couldn’t get out of bed. She lost weight and lost interest in all the things she usually enjoyed.
They went to round after round of specialists, but none of their therapies seemed to make a difference. By the time she disappeared, when Cassie was almost three and Bridger less than a year, he couldn’t leave her alone with the children. He hired someone to stay with them through the day and took care of them all night.
He had lost his wife long before she actually disappeared.
Anger and misery were a twisted coil in his chest as he drove east through the increasing snow along the Columbia River.
He wanted those early days back, that heady flush of love they had shared, with an ache that bordered on desperation. Right now they didn’t even seem real, like a home movie he had watched of somebody else’s life.
He couldn’t have them back. All he could do now was move forward: clear his name, get the divorce and let her walk away for good this time.
It was what he wanted and what his children needed.
For their sake and his own, he couldn’t let this unexpected attraction he felt for Elizabeth 2.0 get in the way.
Sleep had become her sanctuary over the past seven years.
Here, in dreams, Elizabeth could escape into the life she ached to recapture. She was free of the pain that had become her constant silent companion, the grinding headaches that could hit out of the blue, the muscle spasms that left her in tears. Especially the terrifying seizures that she had to fight off with every ounce of her strength.
She could be with her family again. Cassie, Bridger. Luke. While she was sleeping, she could become the best version of herself, the mother she had wanted to be. She sat on the floor and played with her children; she held them in her lap and rocked them to sleep; she could read to them for hours on end.
Though she did have the occasional nightmare, for the most part, sleep was just about the best thing in the world, and she loved sliding into her bed in her room by the big windows at Brambleberry House, pulling the soft blankets up around her shoulders and escaping into the heavenly fantasy.
Alas, morning always came. While she might have liked to hibernate, nestled under the covers for months where her mind could live in that joyful fantasy world, her body had pesky physical needs, like food and drink and medication. Plus, she unfortunately had to go outside of the house and work at a job that could provide enough income to pay for those necessities.
The transition was never easy. Her subconscious fought the return to reality, trying to squeeze out as much REM as possible. She always awoke slowly, reluctantly. This time, the journey to consciousness seemed harder than usual.
Her eyes fluttered open. For a few seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was or why she had this vague sense of dread surrounding her. She sensed movement but didn’t know where she was going. It was dark. She was a passenger in a moving vehicle. Outside the darkened windows, she saw the gleam of snow in headlights.
Panic, thick and hard, hit her then, and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Another night. Another storm. Searing, devastating pain.
Sometimes the idyllic refuge of her dreams could shift to a nightmare in an instant.
A cry escaped her and the sound of her own voice dragged her further to the other side of sleep.
“Easy. It’s okay.”
Odd. What was Luke’s voice doing in her nightmare? It was a discordant, jarring note in the otherwise familiar setting. He hadn’t been there that night. She had left him and their children.
Reality hit her like a fist punching through the windshield. She opened her eyes the rest of the way, turned in her seat and found him through the darkness, hard and unforgiving as he drove through the storm.
“Luke.”
He shifted his eyes briefly from the road. “Were you expecting someone else when you woke up? Hoping you could open your eyes and find out I was just a bad dream?”
He was a good dream. Always the best dream.
“No. Sorry.” She sat up, trying to ignore a wicked cramp in her leg.
“Where are we?”
“About a hundred or so miles past Portland. You slept a few hours. I need to pull off at the next town for gas.”
He was driving slowly through the storm, she could tell by the trees inching past the window. She could see few other cars on the road.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, panic surging again. “There’s no...traffic coming from the other direction.”
“I know.” He kept his gaze focused on the road. Now she noticed his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Was that from her presence or from the storm? Or both?
“Maybe...maybe it’s an accident or something else has closed the freeway.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think so.”
“Don’t know. I’ve been trying to get news on the radio but can’t find any local stations.”
He pointed to a sign on the shoulder indicating an exit two miles ahead with services. “Maybe we can find out more when we fill up.”
A lifetime crawled by in the time it took him to cover those few miles. He drove silently, the only sounds in the vehicle the hum of the heater and the beat of the wipers. By the time he took the exit, she felt wrung dry from the tension. The gas station was part of a cluster of rural houses, maybe six or seven. She was struck by the Christmas lights gleaming a welcome through the snow. Elizabeth had almost forgotten Christmas was only a week away.
Luke drove up to a gas pump, then finally shifted toward her. “Do you need to go in?”
Mostly, she wanted a minute away from him and this tension. If nothing else, moving might help ease the muscle cramp in her leg.
“Yes. I’ll only be...a moment.”
Blowing snow hit her as she opened the vehicle door. She shivered but gripped the door frame and lowered herself out gingerly. For one horrifying moment, she was afraid her leg would not support her weight, but she willed all the strength she had into it and was able to make her painstaking way inside the convenience store.
“Hello,” the clerk greeted her.
Elizabeth forced a smile and made her way straight to the restroom. There, she looked at herself in the mirror, struck as she always was when she looked at her reflection by the woman there who was her but wasn’t her.
When she emerged from