The dream fades, leaving nothing but inky black in front of me. Behind me, Zed slumbers on in a deceptively deep sleep. Most nights as soon as I wake, he jolts awake next to me, his hand sliding over to touch me in a silent question I can usually answer with a soft kiss. But tonight he sleeps, and I wish he’d wake. Three straight nights of nightmares has me restless in my own skin. There’s nothing on the websites about nightmares. Dr. Ham thinks they’ll pass when I reach the mark where I lost the last pregnancy. I’m five weeks now. Only four more to go. The thought turns my stomach. I slide out of bed, my bare feet hitting the ground without a noise. Ballet could prepare a person for a life of international crime and espionage. I creep out of our tiny bedroom and into our disproportionately large living room. I close the door behind me and flick on the overhead lights. At the barre along one wall, I close my hands on the warm wood and my eyes flutter shut.
