I Dreamed the Perfect Blind Date Was Lying To Me Chapter 03

I Dreamed the Perfect Blind Date Was Lying To Me Chapter 03

That dream was as clear as a movie, not one of those blurry, fragmented dreams.

It was frame by frame, with sound, touch, temperature, even smell.

In the dream, I married Derek.

The wedding was arranged by the military. Simple, almost shabby.

No white dress. No church. Ten tables set up in the base dining hall. A few sad balloons and a banner that said “Congratulations.”

The food came from catering trays. I wore a simple beige sundress, sitting there smiling, but my eyes were empty.

Three days after the wedding, he took me to the military housing.

A small Midwestern town. I had never heard of it before.

The wind was strong. The streets were quiet. The buildings were packed so close together you could barely see the sky.

Our assigned unit was on the fourth floor, two bedrooms, one living room, peeling paint, and loud baseboard heaters. When you turned on the faucet, the water smelled like rust.

I stood in the middle of the living room, suitcase in hand. He was unpacking a cardboard box nearby.

He said, “It’s not much, but it’ll get better.”

I nodded.

That was when a child ran in through the open door.

A boy, maybe five or six, with a buzz cut and an old winter coat. His cheeks were red from the cold. He stood in the doorway, tilting his head to look at me.

I froze.

I turned to look at Derek.

He crouched down, ruffled the boy’s hair, then looked up at me. His expression was perfectly natural.

“This is Leo. My son. I didn’t mention it before because I was worried you might mind.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

In the dream, time jumped.

Six months later, I had quit my job. No income. Just a full-time housewife in that small town.

Every morning I got up at six to make breakfast, walked Leo to school, then came home to laundry, mopping, grocery shopping. I picked him up in the afternoon and made dinner.

Derek rarely came home, sometimes once a week, sometimes once every two weeks.

When he did come back, he didn’t say much. He ate and went straight to the study, saying he had documents to review.

Leo didn’t call me mom. He called me Emily.

One time I was helping him with his homework. He pushed the worksheet away and said, “You’re not my mom. Why are you telling me what to do?”

I stood there frozen, the pencil still in my hand.

Derek came out of the study, glanced at us, and said, “Leo, don’t.”

Then he turned to me. “He’s just a kid. Be patient.”

Time jumped again in the dream.

One year later.

I had lost nearly twenty pounds. My hair was brittle, and my face had lost its color.

One night I sat in the kitchen, phone clutched in my hand, scrolling through old work messages.

The people in the group were still talking about projects, proposals, and where to get late-night food after overtime.

Those names were so familiar, but they had nothing to do with me anymore.

I left the group chat, opened my contacts, and scrolled to my mom’s number.

I thought about calling.

The last time I had called her, she said, “You made your choice. You have to make it work. He’s a decent man. It’s not like you had better options.”

I put my phone face down on the table.

The kitchen light flickered.

The dream jumped again.

Two years later, a woman showed up.

She came to the housing complex looking for Derek and said she was a fellow soldier’s wife dropping something off.

She wore a yellow coat and had fair skin with curly hair. She smiled when she talked, and her voice was soft.

Leo ran to her as soon as he saw her. “Julie!”

She crouched down and hugged him, pulling a box of chocolates from her bag.

Leo laughed and shouted, “Julie is the best!”

I stood in the kitchen doorway, hands dusted with flour.

She glanced at me and smiled. “You must be Emily. Nice to meet you.”

That night, Derek came home unusually early.

He was on the phone in the living room, keeping his voice low, but I heard one line from the bedroom. “I know. Don’t worry. It’s all arranged.”

In the final scene of the dream, I stood in that worn-out living room. Derek sat on the couch, legs crossed, looking at me.

His expression was calm, carrying that gentle condescension.

He said, “You didn’t have any other prospects, right? That’s why you married me.”

My heart felt like someone had squeezed it.

He smiled and continued, “So you should be grateful. Don’t get too picky.”

I stood there, frozen.

But I didn’t speak. Didn’t argue. Didn’t defend myself.

Dream—me just lowered my head and walked silently back to the kitchen.

And then, beneath the sound of the running faucet, I heard myself cry.

My eyes snapped open.