I repeat that over and over until I can feel my heart rate starting to decrease. Every night, it’s the same dream. The same panic that makes it so I have to fight for air. Then it’s the same inability to sleep for the rest of the night.

The last three weeks have been absolute hell. I’m so tired of being tired. The crash haunts me. The memories, fear, and darkness make it impossible for me to move on when all I really want is to move forward.

I throw the covers off my legs and head downstairs.

Over the last few weeks, my mother has grown accustom to the nightmares, no longer waking when she hears me—or maybe I’m not screaming anymore. If that’s the case, I’d really love it if the dreams would just stop. Since tonight is not that night, I start my ritual of coping with a few hours of rest.

I make myself a cup of tea, grab the blanket off the back of the couch, and head out to the front porch. The swing that my father hung the weekend before he walked out on us is still there, welcoming me to rock and ignore the world.

I curl up, holding the warm mug in my hands, and slowly sip while surrounded by silence.

Willow Creek Valley used to be my favorite place in the world. It’s quiet, beautiful, and allows total seclusion. We’re surrounded by woods, and even the poorest members of the town—my family—get to feel as if we at least have privacy.

I would sit on this very swing, dreaming of a life just like my mama and daddy had. I wanted the husband, kids, and the perfect Southern life.

It was all there. In a perfect world, I would’ve opened an inn with Grayson and lived the life we talked about. It was all within reach. And then I realized that dreams are lies we feed ourselves.

Husbands leave.

Daddies never call.

Kids are destroyed by it.

And I want no part of it.

Instead, I wanted to see the world, which I did until it ended with the plane coming down.

My head is beginning to ache, and I start to rub my temples.

Please don’t let this be a crippling one this time.

My phone pings with a text from the only friend I kept in touch with from Willow Creek.

Delia: Want to get breakfast?

Me: Why are you awake?

Delia: I never went to sleep. So . . . food?