It’s always the same nightmare. Doesn’t matter where she is. There’s no cue, no trigger. But it’s always the same.

She dreams their anger. Their disdain.

It’s eerily simple, the dream. She sees their eyes. Their faces, yes, but mostly their eyes. Filled with dismissal.

She doesn’t dream their turning away, but the sense of it is there. The sense of leaving, of absence, of abandonment. The knowledge that she isn’t enough. Isn’t wanted. Isn’t welcome.

Sometimes what wakes her is crying out; other times she doesn’t know. She always wakes in tears, trembling with fear. She can’t move for long moments.