I dreamt in grey that night.
The fog pressed against my chest, thick and heavy, as though the air itself had turned into a memory. I walked through a cemetery that felt oddly familiar, though I didn’t recognize the place. The ground crunched beneath my feet, each step measured, like my body knew where it was going, even if my mind didn’t. Somewhere in the distance, wind chimes rang, their sound slightly off, like a song trying to remember itself.
My heart raced. The silence around me only made it louder.
And then, I saw him.
Wyatt, my husband. He stood by a grave I couldn’t quite make out. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, his eyes fixed on me, unblinking. He didn’t speak. There was no need for words. He simply lifted one hand and waved slowly, his fingers moving like they were trying to hold onto something.
“Wyatt?” I called out, stepping toward him, my voice shaking. “What are you doing here?”
Before he could answer, before he could even move, the phone rang.
I gasped awake, my heart pounding in my chest, the image of Wyatt in the graveyard still lingering in my mind. The room was dark, suffocatingly quiet. Wyatt wasn’t beside me. His side of the bed was cold, untouched, like he hadn’t even been there.
I fumbled for my phone, my body caught between sleep and panic.
An unknown number flashed on the screen. I felt my stomach drop.
“Hello?” I answered, my voice barely above a whisper.
A woman’s voice came through, cold, professional, almost robotic.
“Good evening, ma’am. I’m sorry to inform you, but your husband…”
The words hung in the air like thick fog, wrapping around me, making it hard to breathe.
“What? What do you mean? Wyatt… he’s supposed to be home! He worked the late shift, but he should’ve been home by now!” I was almost pleading, my words tumbling over each other.
“I… I’m so sorry. I believe I’ve called the wrong number. Please forgive me.” She paused, then hung up before I could say anything else.
I sat there in the dark, my heart hammering in my chest. It was 4:17 A.M. Wyatt’s shift had ended an hour ago. No text, no call. Nothing.
I swung my legs out of bed, trying to calm my trembling hands, but nothing seemed to help. The house felt strange, like I was stuck in some feverish dream. I needed water, something to steady myself.
Then, I saw him.
Out the kitchen window, the pale light of the moon caught something in the backyard. Something wrong. Wyatt was floating, face down, in the pool.
A scream tore through my chest, but no sound came out. For a moment, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
Then, instinct kicked in. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I shoved open the sliding door, so hard it banged against the frame. My bare feet slapped against the wet grass as I ran, coldness biting at my skin.
Wyatt. He was there, still, floating lifeless in the water. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t.
“No, no, no! Wyatt!” I screamed, slipping on the wet ground as I fell to my knees by the pool. My hands shook as I grabbed my phone, dialing 911 with shaking fingers.
“Emergency services, what’s your emergency?”
“My husband! He’s in the pool! He’s not breathing! I need an ambulance, NOW!” I sobbed, barely able to speak, slamming the phone on speaker and diving into the pool to drag him out.
His body was heavy. Too heavy. Like the life had already drained out of him.
His body hit the pavement with a sickening thud. His skin was icy, his lips an unnatural shade of blue. His chest wasn’t moving. His eyes didn’t blink.
“No! No, no, no! Wyatt, please! Don’t leave me!” I screamed, but there was no response.
I began chest compressions, my palms slipping against his wet, cold skin.
“Come on, Wyatt, stay with me. One, two, three, four…” I shouted with each compression, my heart hammering in my chest. “Come back to me, Wyatt!”
I did mouth-to-mouth. Nothing. Again.
“Please, Wyatt! Don’t leave me!” I cried, desperation rising in my chest.
Then, a miracle.
A wet, broken gasp. His body jerked, and water spilled from his mouth. He coughed, sputtered, life fighting its way back in.
I collapsed on top of him, sobbing uncontrollably, my forehead pressed to his cold chest. The sound of sirens filled the air, and red and blue lights painted the yard.
He was alive. He was alive!
At the hospital, I sat in the sterile, white waiting room, arms wrapped tightly around myself, my damp sweater sticking to my skin like a second layer. The cold tiles seemed to seep through my shoes, biting at my feet. The quiet around me was suffocating—whispers in the corners, muted footsteps, the buzz of machines no one was using.
Time didn’t pass. It pulsed.
Finally, a doctor appeared, her scrubs wrinkled, her eyes tired but kind.
“He’s stable, June,” she said gently, offering a soft smile. “You saved his life.”
I exhaled, but it was shaky, like I couldn’t quite catch my breath.
“But…” she hesitated. “We found something else. Your husband has a serious heart condition. It’s likely been undetected for years.”
I nodded, but the words didn’t settle, didn’t make sense. They just hovered in the air like the fog from my dream.
“He’s lucky you acted when you did,” she added, her voice quiet but firm.
Lucky. Lucky? I shook my head, numb.
I stood without thinking, my legs moving like they had a mind of their own, pulling me toward the reception desk. I barely heard my own voice when I asked for water.
The receptionist turned and I froze. That voice. It was the same. The one from the phone call.
“You called me earlier,” I said, my voice trembling. “About my husband…”
The woman looked at me, confusion in her eyes. “I didn’t make any calls, ma’am. I’ve been here all night. Your husband is my last patient before I head home.”
It was the same voice. The same cadence, but now softer, warmer. Real.
The air shifted around me, my skin prickling. My stomach churned.
What had woken me? What had pulled me from that dream? Who—or what—had warned me? Pushed me toward the window? Toward Wyatt?
And why her voice?
It wasn’t fear I felt anymore. It was awe. Something had come for me in the dark. It hadn’t come to take. It had come to save.
Wyatt was still sleeping, hooked up to machines that beeped in a steady rhythm. His chest rose and fell with each breath, slow but steady. I kissed his forehead, whispering that I’d be right back, and slipped out of the room.
The hospital corridors were dim, the night hanging in the corners like smoke. I followed the smell of something warm until I found the cafeteria. Half-closed, with only a few items left. But that was all I needed.
I grabbed a cup of lukewarm coffee and a muffin I didn’t plan on eating. It wasn’t about the food—it was about grounding myself in something small and ordinary, like coffee and stale blueberry.
I sat by the window for a while, staring out at the streetlights, feeling the world continue to turn without me.
But the quiet didn’t last.
I stood, my legs pulling me down a hallway I hadn’t meant to take.
The sign said: Psychiatry & Counseling.
And for some reason, it felt like exactly where I needed to be.
I knocked on the door of the only office with a light still on. A woman with kind eyes and soft curls looked up.
“Can I help you?” she asked gently.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, feeling the weight of everything. “I think I need someone to tell me I’m not crazy.”
She ushered me in without hesitation.
I told her everything. The dream. The phone call. Wyatt in the pool. The voice. The warning. My voice cracked, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t laugh.
“What happened to you, June, was terrifying and beautiful,” she said slowly. “I can’t say it was a guardian angel or just your intuition, but maybe it doesn’t matter.”
“But how did I know?” I swallowed, trying to steady myself. “Before anything even happened?”
“Because love does that, June,” she said simply. “Sometimes, your mind picks up things your body hasn’t yet. Your subconscious knew. And maybe something else did too.”
I stared at her, tears slipping down my cheeks.
“You were never alone,” she added.
For the first time, I let myself believe that was true.
I thanked her silently, with the way my shoulders dropped, my breath finally steady. I might never understand what happened, but I didn’t need to.
Wyatt was alive. And I was still standing.
The therapist’s words clung to me long after I left her office.
I walked the hospital halls in a daze, the coffee cold in my hand. I passed the pediatric ward, the nurses’ station, the vending machine that buzzed too loudly. Everything felt sharp, like the world hadn’t quite forgiven me for almost losing it all.
When I reached Wyatt’s room, I froze.
The heart monitor beeped steadily. His chest rose and fell, slow but sure.
And then, his eyes opened. Just a crack. But enough.
“June,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
I dropped the coffee, it rolled across the floor, forgotten.
“I’m here,” I whispered, rushing to his side, my fingers curling around his. “I’m here.”
“You pulled me out?” His gaze found mine, dazed and confused.
I nodded, tears already slipping down my face.
“I remember,” he whispered, his throat dry. “I was standing somewhere… cold… like I was being called. Like something was pulling me.”
I couldn’t speak. I just held his hand tighter.
“I turned around,” he continued, his voice faint. “And I saw you. Not really, but like a shadow of you. You were crying. And I couldn’t leave you.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears. I just held his hand tighter, afraid to let go.
Later, after they sedated him to rest, I found an empty bathroom and locked the door behind me.
I collapsed against the sink, breath ragged, my reflection staring back at me—skin sallow, lips cracked, eyes wild.
I didn’t recognize myself.
The sob that ripped from me wasn’t delicate. It was raw, guttural—the scream of fear finally set free. I cried for the man I almost lost. For the version of me that didn’t make it out of that dream.
He almost died. And I almost didn’t make it back.
When the tears slowed, I wiped my face with the edge of my sleeve and sat there on the cold tiles, shaking but breathing.
And then, a memory surfaced. A stupid joke from months ago.
“If I ever die before you,” Wyatt had said, out of nowhere, as he leaned against the counter while I stirred pasta. “You better not meet anyone else. I swear I’ll haunt your butt.”
“You? A ghost?” I’d laughed, shaking my head.
“I’d be the most annoying one. Like… lights flickering, cold toes, the works.”
“Why?” I asked, smiling.
“Because you’re mine,” he grinned. “And I’d want you to save me. Even if I was already gone.”
At the time, I’d rolled my eyes, brushed it off. But now?
Now, it felt like maybe he wasn’t joking.
Maybe he really had one foot out the door.
Maybe I really did save him.
And maybe… love is loud enough to scream across worlds.
Wyatt sleeps now, safe in a hospital bed, his hand curled in mine like nothing else matters.
And maybe… nothing else does.