Silence settled over them.
Not the comfortable kind—this one felt heavy, expectant, as though the room itself was waiting for something to be said.
Anna blinked, once. Twice.
Daniel stayed still, watching her, bracing himself for dismissal. He remembered the first time he had spoken about his dreams—those fractured images where she slipped through his fingers, where her breath faded while he stood helpless.
He had told her once.
Only once.
Back then, he hadn't lingered on it. He had convinced himself it was just a nightmare, born from guilt and exhaustion. More importantly, he hadn't wanted to trouble her with something so dark when their relationship itself had been hanging by a thread.
Trust hadn't existed between them then.
Love hadn't either.
At that time, Anna's only goal had been to leave him—to divorce him and reclaim her life. Even if she had listened, she would have brushed it aside. He knew that.
What Daniel hadn't known was this—
Anna was not someone who forgot.
