“May.” I call out her name, and it wakes me from my horrible dream. She was here, in the cottage, standing outside my door, and she was scared. I tried to get to her but could only move in slow motion, as though I’d been drugged with tranquilizers. When I finally made it to my door, it was locked. I tried to kick it in, but I was so weak and slow that I barely even made contact.

I’m sobbing, the stress and fear of the dream locking into my grief and overwhelming me. “May,” I say, as some kind of explanation.

Ezra holds me from behind and makes gentle shushing sounds. “It’s okay. It was a just dream.” His grip is tight, and it slowly brings me back to reality.

My crying stops as the embarrassment at my open display of raw grief sets in. Our first night together, and he ends up holding me as I sob after crying out from a bad dream.

I gently move his arm off me and sit up. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? It sounded like a horrible dream.” He eyes me doubtfully.

I give him a weak smile. “It was bad, but it’s over and I’m fine,” I lie. The feeling of the dream lingers strong. I can’t get rid of the sense that May was right here and I couldn’t reach her.

I lie back down beside him, and he wraps his arms around me. I think about rolling around to face him, initiating more sex to distract myself from this feeling. But the grief is too heavy. I can’t even muster the strength to turn over. So I choose sleep instead, another trusty escape, falling fast and deep with Ezra wrapped around me.

The next time I wake up, Ezra is no longer beside me. I hear noises downstairs and the light is bright in the room, so I must have slept in, but I feel exhausted. The feeling of the dream and my sorrow still sit along my bones, weighing me down. I want to close my eyes and try to find sleep again, just like I did for so many weeks after May died. The reprieve from those feelings is over and they’ve clearly circled back.

If it weren’t for Ezra, I’d give in. Instead, I’m going to use him as a distraction. I push the covers off me and slowly sit up. Just one step at a time, I tell myself. If I got free from it before, I can do it again—especially here. I put a hand to my chest; it aches as though the virtual hole my sister left is real and is now pulsing with pain. I inhale deeply and try to breathe it away. All because of one goddamn dream, I think to myself.