The first nightmare came without warning.

I woke up to Jake screaming my name like someone drowning.

I ran into his room and found him curled into a tight ball on the bed, shaking so violently the mattress trembled beneath him.

His eyes were open.

But they weren’t seeing the room.

They were trapped somewhere else.

Somewhere terrible.

I sat beside him until the sun came up, saying very little—just letting him know he wasn’t alone.

The next night, it happened again.

And then again.

Sleeping on the Floor

By the fourth night, I stopped pretending this would simply pass.

So I grabbed a blanket and dragged it into his room.

I laid down on the floor beside his bed.

That way, when the nightmares came—and they always did—Jake didn’t have to search the dark.

All he had to do was look down.

And see me there.

Sometimes he’d whisper quietly, almost in disbelief:

“You’re here.”

Then he’d fall back asleep.

The Tension in the House

My wife, Sarah—who I’ve been married to for two years—watched all of this from the sidelines.

At first, she said nothing.

She simply observed.

Quiet.
Tight-lipped.

I assumed she understood.

I was wrong.