Alex shot up in bed, his breathing ragged, sweat clinging to his skin. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it might burst from his chest. He ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, his mind still trapped in the remnants of the nightmare.
Or was it really a nightmare? Or something more?
His chest tightened as the realization hit him—this wasn't just some random bad dream. It felt too real, too vivid. The car, the woman's voice, the crying baby, the impact—he had been there. He had lived it. It felt as though it was a distant memory of his. A part of him he had perhaps buried for so long.
He thought and then Claire's words echoed in his head.
"You used to have nightmares, Alex. Terrible ones. That was why you slept in my room a lot. But with time, they just stopped, and you never talked about them again."
