“I heard something.”
Hearing the panic in my voice, you sit up and you listen for a moment. You ask if I’ve checked the monitors, and I give you a look only married people understand. You sit there for a few moments, waiting. I watch as your expression changes slowly, as indifference passes over your features and settles in. I realize we’re going nowhere when you pat my leg and ask if I’ve had ‘one of those dreams again.’ It’s a gesture I understand all too well. It’s your way of telling me you think I’m crazy without actually saying it.
“No,” I whisper. “I really heard something. And I’m pretty sure it was a scream.”
“Hmm,” you say, and you pause, and right when I think you’re going to be useful you say what is quite possibly the dumbest thing yet. “Well, let me know if you hear it aga
