Page 5 of Love You Madly

I have to figure out a way to protect my children. And if that means leaving Adam for good, then so be it. But first, I need a plan.

I’m determined to make sure my kids know they shouldn’t be getting married if they cannot have champagne at theirreception. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. Hell, they probably shouldn’t get married if they aren’t old enough to rent a vehicle. Actually, fuck that. I’m going to tell them that they shouldn’t get married until they are old enough to run for President. Yeah, thirty-five, that should do the trick. That is assuming my children listen to me better than I listened to my parents… Fat fucking chance.

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WAKE ME UP - AVICII

OWEN - MARCH 21, 2013

I find myself back at my uncle’s farm, in that same old fishing spot we used to visit every chance we got. The trees stretch high, their branches interwoven like the arches of a cathedral, creating a canopy of shifting light and shadow. The air is eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the faint breeze. I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia, memories pouring over me. As a kid, I remember how my dad would get home from work, barely taking a breath before loading me up in the truck and driving us out here to our favorite fishing hole.

Darling Ridge Farms is a patchwork quilt of memories. It feels like I’ve been here a million times. I’m surrounded by the fields dotted with wildflowers. In the near distance, I can see the weathered barn with its chipped red paint where my cousins and I used to play hide-and-seek in the lofts.

Each corner of this place holds a piece of my childhood. I remember running through these fields, the taste of the fresh applespicked straight from the orchard, and the comforting smell of hay in the barn. This place is a sanctuary—the place where the world seems simpler and my worries are far away.

It’s been nine years since I first had this dream, but the details keep shifting. Each change is subtle, sometimes so slight I barely notice. I feel a strange sense of anticipation, knowing that she will be there, waiting for me. Alongside that anticipation is a gnawing guilt, a heavy weight on my conscience that I can never shake.

I turn away from the lake and walk down the path to a clearing. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of excitement and dread coursing through me. There she is, standing with her back to me. Her hair's so dark that it’s almost black. As she turns to face me, her green eyes lock onto mine. Those eyes pierce straight into my soul and fill me with a warmth I’ve never known before–a warmth I only ever find in these shared moments with her. The irises are dark around the edges, and when the sunlight hits just right, hints of purple shimmer within the green, like a hidden amethyst.

Wait… Have I noticed that before?

I feel the familiar pull overtaking me, the inexplicable connection that has haunted my dreams since the day before my wedding. She appeared out of nowhere for the first time, and since then, she’s been a constant presence in my dreams. The intensity of my emotions surprises me every time—the longing, the yearning, the ache to be near her. And with each longing glance, each moment spent in her presence, the guilt intensifies.

The problem is… she isn’t my wife.

“Who are you?” I ask, knowing she won’t answer. She never does. Her gaze is intense and unwavering, as if she holds a secret just out of my reach. The amethyst ring around her iris is deeper and more vivid now.

Silence lingers in the surroundings. I can see every detail of her here—the subtle curve of her lips into an enigmatic smile, the hidden pain reflected in her eyes. It’s like my own version of “Groundhog Day,” but instead of reliving the same day, I’m trapped in this recurring dream with her, and I never want to wake up. Phil Connors had it easy; he knew what to expect. She changes the game, and I never know what the dream is going to reveal to me next.

Is she trapped here too?

I take a step closer, the crunch of leaves underfoot echoing my unanswered questions. “Why are you here?” I ask, moving as close as she allows. “Why are you doing this to me?” My voice cracks with pain, desperate for her response. My heart breaks every time I wake, knowing I have to wait to sleep again to see her. I’m desperate to hear her voice, to break this cycle that has gnawed at me for years.

She tilts her head slightly, her expression softening, as she absorbs my frustration. But she remains silent. No whispered words, no murmurs, not even a sigh. Her presence is both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of something elusive. There’s a part of me terrified of what I might discover if she ever speaks. And then there’s the part of me that feels like I’m betraying my wife. Every time I yearn for this mysterious woman, every time I hope for her to break the silence.

In the dream, time seems fluid, stretching and slowing in defiance of logic. I could stand here for hours, lost in her eyes, yet it feels like moments… and it’s never enough. Each time I think I’m close to understanding, the dream ends abruptly, leaving me with more questions than when I first spotted her in the clearing years ago.

I reach out, desperate to touch her, to know if she’s real. But as my fingers brush hers, the dream fades. Tears fill my eyes as she slowly disappears, leaving me with an ache that lingers long after I wake—an ache compounded by the guilt of pining for someone who isn’t my wife.

As the clearing dissolves into darkness, I wake up, my heart pounding against my ribs. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, the image of her eyes burning in my mind. Each time I have this dream brings me the same torment, and yet, I’m no closer to understanding her hold over me.

The dream is a twisted form of hell, a relentless repeat with no apparent escape. I’m trapped in this cycle, waiting for answers that never come. I can only hope one day, she’ll reveal the truth behind her haunting presence.

Waking up without Sabrina next to me is a relief. I always felt a heavy burden of guilt after dreaming about another woman while my wife was sleeping next to me. Despite our divorce being finalized two years ago, waking up alone after these dreams remains just as difficult. I remind myself that I’m not married anymore, so I don’t have to feel as guilty about the dreams. And even when I was married, it’s not like the dreams are something I had control over. Yet, the sense of relief quickly fades, and the feeling of loneliness persists as a constant companion.

As messed up as it sounds, my ex-wife’s presence used to offer me solace, anchoring me in reality, a reminder that I wasn’t completely alone. I’ve tried to find ways to move on both from Sabrina and the enigmatic smile of the girl who invades my dreams. We’d been together since high school, dating for seven years and married for almost another seven.

Almost.

Even though I’m no longer married to Sabrina, I still wrestle with my conscience. The woman in my dreams only ever appeared in my sleep, but it feels like I had an emotional affair while I was married. The guilt lingers, a shadow over every dream, every longing glance at the mysterious woman.

The fact is, I fell in love with another woman while I wasmarried to Sabrina. And I’ve never even met her. I don’t even know if she’s really out there somewhere.

I questioned myself constantly: Did these dreams affect my marriage? Was I unfair to Sabrina, emotionally connected to someone who wasn’t real? The answers never come, and the doubts gnaw at me, a reminder of the unresolved conflict within. I try to remind myself that, in the end, Sabrina and I didn’t have a happy marriage and my guilt starts to subside.

FEBRUARY 17, 2011 - TWO YEARS AGO

Our marriage was a societal expectation, a natural progression after college. I could almost hear my ex-mother-in-law’s shrill voice insisting that marriage was the next logical step. God, that voice was the stuff from nightmares. But, alas, I followed the script. But after five years of marriage and a year of parenthood, I grew weary of the routine. Fatherhood shifted my perspective, and I didn’t want my son to witness a relationship that felt empty, devoid of the passion and connection I wanted to model for him.

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