text: The engine dies. He takes out the keys and sets them on his leg. The last vestige of the life of his dreams, that car. He sits out front of the small house he barely makes rent on. Not what he had planned. He pops the handle on door and slides out into the cool fall air. The door slams with a metallic thud. They don’t make them like they used to. Nothing’s like it used to be. He trudges up the walk, a highway to all his broken dreams. He unlocks the door, all is quiet. He slips the key-ring back into his pocket and drops his bag by the door. Home. “In here,” she calls from the kitchen. He trudges into further in, stops at the kitchen door and leans against the frame. She’s just pulling dinner from the oven. He’s always thought she was beautiful. Since the first day they met. Freshman year of high school. She was the mousy book-nerd in the back of class. He was the lone wolf, tough out of necessity, friendless. She never paid him any attention. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She was short. Like really short. And it drove him insane. Hadn’t grown an inch in the eight years he’d known her. Her hair has changed a lot though. Brown. Blonde. Blue. Bright pink once. Back to natural now. She did that for the wedding. Her eyes, though tired now, still sparkle. Dark, dark pools of starry liquid. She is his salvation. He moves to her, hands on her hips. Lips caress her shoulder, nudging her dress strap off with his nose. “Missed you today,” he whispers, then closes his lips around her earlobe. The smell of her hair is intoxicating. Still wet from a shower hours earlier. He presses her against him, her small frame cradled against his. Fingers entwined, now moving up her stomach. Not as flat as it once was. Now rippled with marks. Still drives him wild. He turns her around. Hungrily covers her mouth with his. The taste of her is ecstasy. Her hands grip his shirt, pulling him close. His hands move now, down her back, tugging her dress up, hands moving up warm thighs. Lifting her with firm hands. Planting her on the counter. Kisses frantic. She’s pulling at the buttons of his shirt. His lips move down her neck. Slowly. Hands caress the tops of her legs. Teasing, hinting at what he wants. She wraps her legs around him. He groans, feeling his need for her thrumming in his soul. “I need you,” he whispers, barely audible against her skin. But then the pitter-patter of bare feet. A solid weight against his leg. “Hi daddy! You’re home!” she squeals. He pulls away, picks the little curly haired girl up and spins her around. “I missed you too sweetie!” He kisses her cheek. Offers his wife a hand and she slips off the counter. “Tonight,” he whispers and kisses her palm. “Tonight.” And he forgets that his dreams were dashed that night she told him she was pregnant. Because, even though they haunt him every day, his dreams were never as good as this.