Unfamiliar

It's much, much colder when awareness comes to her. How the temperature dropped overnight so drastically, she isn't sure, but for October, she supposes it isn't the strangest thing. Even more so since she forgot to take the throw blanket from the back of the couch to cover herself with it before lapsing into sleep. Last night had been so long, and after getting Gracie to bed, she hadn't thought about much of anything anything. 

Eyes still glued shut with the intention of more sleep, she drags her arm up and to the back of the sofa, intent on finding said blanket and using it. Instead, she discovers no such familiar feel and touches an unfamiliar texture where a recognizable one should be. 

An uneasiness settles in at that. Where was the worn fabric that should be underneath her hand?

That is enough to get her to crack her eyes open. Despite being tired still from sleep, the couch she sees underneath and behind her almost jolts her awake. No, this is not her couch. This is her husband's couch, which he had recently put into his apartment. That didn't make any sense. 

They had talked before she put their daughter to sleep last night. Amiably, but with none of the warmth it would have had even a month ago. They had not decided on quitting yet, but the separation was doing its intended job of lessening some of the pressure. It would be a lie to say she didn't miss him; she craved him coming home some days. But not enough to find herself here. Especially when Gracie hadn't so far seemed to be upset by any of the changes. Their problems, as much as possible, were not to affect her. That had been the agreement from the beginning. 

Before any clarity can happen, it happens. As warm and as sweet as a voice can be, it comes from the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" 

It would have made her want to cry if she hadn't been so confused. Stilling straight up, she looks around. Confirming that yes, this was, in fact, not her home she was waking up in. No, this was Toms apartment. Or at least the little bit she had seen of it when she dropped Gracie by. 

The sounds of cooking register in her ear, too. She tries to piece things together. Mentally attempting to retrace her steps to explain being here of all places, she scrambles to go through her night. She and Gracie came home for the day, and after a few cartoons and a snack, the bedtime battle happened. Afterward, she had put on whatever documentary looked peaceful enough to relax just a bit before going to sleep to work first thing tomorrow and inevitably falling asleep on her familiar couch. 

A call to allow Gracie to say goodnight to her father. That was it, all the contact they had had the entire evening. 

 Before she can fully figure this strangeness out, Tom comes out. A smile on his face that she could only have dreamed up. Was she dreaming? Was that how all of this came into being? He speaks again before she can. 

"I'm already making a grilled cheese. You can have one, too, if you're hungry." Tom says. He was continuing from his question a moment ago as if this was precisely what was supposed to be happening. 

"What am I doing here?" She manages to get out. Yes, it had to be a dream. 

His brow raised at that as if perhaps she had slept so hard that she had woken up confused. "You're at my place, silly. Gracie is in bed, too, so don't worry. I just let you be after your long day." He says. 

What? 

But they weren't here last night. She knows that, and the terror building in her stomach begins to hurt when a thought comes to her mind. Gracie. Her five-year-old could be here, wherever she is, or whatever is happening. A form of calmness comes over her at that realization, and she shakes her head.

"Yea. Go ahead and make me one; I'll be right back. Gonna peak in on Gracie." 

He nods with the same smile. The one that she craved back before they decided on a break. For just a second, she thought it could be lovely to play along. Pretend the last few months never happened, and they were living together again as a family. 

But she moves quickly to the bedroom, the one Tom had mentioned setting up a bedroom for their daughter when she visits. Upon quietly peaking in, she finds it entirely accurate. Gracie is asleep on a new bed with her familiar toys and blankets. There is no sign of anything wrong at all. Stepping in, she can't stop from gently shaking her away. 

With a yawn. "Hi, Momma." Looking around, she leans on her. "It's still dark."

"It is. Hey, baby, how'd we get to Daddy's house?" She makes every effort to remain calm, not to startle her. 

"We came home." That is all she says. 

The panic jumped from her gut into her throat. Gracie was a part of this reality, too. Didn't remember what she did. This almost certainly had to be a dream, then. But why does she feel everything? Why is she so scared? What was making it feel like she shouldn't be here at all?

Deciding to put that aside, she pulls the covers back up around Gracie. "Oh, you're right. Momma is silly like that. Go back to sleep, sweetheart."

The little girl, still tired and half away as it was, needed no encouragement and falls quickly back into sleep. Once she recognizes the steady, even breathing pattern, she stands carefully from the bed and enters the hall. She decides to wait to make her way into the kitchen or living room. More confused now, if that makes sense. 

Is it a dream? Somehow, was she taken here in her sleep? Gracie seems so content, but she can remember the jingle of the cartoon they watched last night and the strange position her head was in on that old, familiar couch. 

If this was a dream, wouldn't it be a good one? Where she wasn't doubting everything and scared? 

She huffs out her nose momentarily and pulls up her sleeve. As cliche as it sounds, it may be the only way to answer. Taking her fingers, she pinches the soft skin of her forearm.