He didn't understand her confusion or her excitement. It was the first time he'd truly looked at her in...His mind stuttered over the answer. Weeks? At least two by his count. He'd left her in here for two weeks. He thought she simply needed time, time to mourn and heal. Though no amount of time, no amount of hours thrown into work or mindless tasks, let him forget. That box inside where he locked his anger and sadness of their loss was full to bursting, but he kept it locked up tight because he didn't think Hayley could shoulder his grief along with her own. Now that he looked at her, really looked at her, it appeared she couldn't handle hers.

The maternal glow was long gone, replaced by a sickly pallor. She looked haunted, dark bruise-like smudges under her eyes proof of her exhaustion. Had he paid so little attention to her that he missed Hayley starving herself?

She grabbed at his hands, breathing heavily as if she'd run a mile. She looked frantic.

"I was awake?" Her gaze lost focus. "Did you see him? You must have seen him? He was here, Anthony. He was here."

"Who are you talking about?" The hair on the back of his neck stood up as she dropped from the chair, holding the baby blanket pinned tight to her chest.

"Danny, he was here," she breathed. Her eyes were glassy, her pale face covered in sweat. He was sweating too. It was stifling in the nursery, and no wonder. The window was wide open, letting the summer heat pour in, negating their central air. He backed away from Hayley, using the distraction to give him a moment to process her words.

"Danny was here?" He spoke carefully as he shut and locked the window.

"Yes," she said, her voice cracking. "It was him, his spirit, or presence. He looked older, but it was him. He came back to me."

He knew she saw the skepticism on his face before he could mask it when the hopeful light dimmed in her eyes. Although he hated being the cause of it, this terrified him. Losing their son broke him; was still breaking him day to day in the spare moments he couldn't occupy his mind with drudgery. But to come home to this? What heart could take that?

"There's no one here, Hayley." She wilted under his words, drawing away, back into herself. The chasm between them grew wider still and Anthony could feel himself hovering on the edge. "Look, you haven't been taking care of yourself. I can make you an appointment to see a therapist and—"

"I'm not crazy," said Hayley, high and fast. He could see the hurt in her, feel it push back against him.

"You're not crazy," Anthony allowed, "but you are grieving, and grief can twist you up inside. Talking to someone might help you get out of that negative head space."

She sneered at him. "Talk to someone else since you won't talk to me? You've ignored me for weeks. You left me here alone, all alone, in that 'negative head space'. You know what? I know the difference between reality and fantasy. I know he's a dream." Her voice wavered on the word. "He's a perfect dream. I wanted to share him with you and you weren't there."

Anthony swallowed. "Hayley—"

"Just leave," she said.

Anthony hesitated, feeling the right words, the right actions, hovering just out of his reach. They wouldn't come. He left, his fists so tight his knuckles were cracking. There wasn't enough room in his inner box for the pain of her dismissal.