Some dreams do come true

It had been years since her son had gently opened her bedroom door in the middle of almost every night, creeping across the floor to lay a small hand on her shoulder and whisper with warm breath, Mommy, come.

On nights when the fear-filled call came from his room, she would run to him, and croon, Mommy’s here, honey, willing him to awaken and lose the fear that caused his little body to quiver, eyes open, moaning incoherently. As mother-protector, she staunched her own childish dread of nightmares in the dark.

Until that night.

Since he was long gone from home, there was no reason for her door to open or for shuffling steps to approach the bed. In her fright, she wants to reach for her husband’s hand, but she cannot move; afraid to speak, afraid to see, she lays trembling with eyes squeezed shut.

A cold hand touches her breast, long fingers clasping her shoulder. In her head, she hears a voice like chalk on a blackboard say, some dreams do come true, as she feels the hand sink through skin, take hold of her heart and squeeze.

The medical examiner stated cause of death as myocardial infarction.