I am at my dead mother-in-law’s house. She is very young, house full of kids. I am there to buy chocolate chip cookies, like the ones I used to bake for them when I started dating her son. She pulls a fresh batch out of the oven, and we chit-chat while we wait for them to cool. Through a window, I see my husband as a child, playing with his siblings. He looks at me, disappointed. I smile politely. His mother hands me a bag full of cookies and I pay for them, placing the bag in my purse, already knowing that I won’t eat them, and that this transaction is pointless. I leave, happy, and get in the car with a man I’ve never seen. We are glad to see each other and ask the driver to take us to our destination.
I wake up.