For weeks, she can hardly sleep at all. Every crunch of gravel under the foot of an animal is the sound of Lucien's return, every creaking floorboard an attacker come to take her wherever he is. She lies in bed for hours, accepting what small amount of shut-eye claims her, and then rises with the dawn and gets to work. She cleans and cooks and waits, waits, waits. The house was never so spotless when he was here. When he returns, it will be good as new.

She wears herself out with waiting. At week four, exhaustion truly begins to set in. She can tell by the way her hands shake around the handle of the vacuum that he bought her, and the concern in Matthew's eyes every time he looks at her face. She supposes that this restless, constant movement cannot continue indefinitely. Gradually, she settles. Time moves slower, sleep is easier, and she finds herself dreaming again.

In her dreams, he comes back. She dreams of coming home from the store and finding another car in the driveway. When she runs inside he is there to greet her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing kisses to her lips, her cheek, whatever part of her he can reach. When she wakes, the space beside her is empty, her body cold without his warmth.

In another dream, he rings the doorbell while she's home. She opens the door and is swept off her feet, laughing joyously into his chest. His voice is soft in her ear saying I love you, and I'm sorry, and I will never leave you again. She wakes up to silence, broken only by her heartbeat and quiet sobs.

The third time feels even more real than the others. The back of her mind warns her not to believe, but she plays along; she might as well enjoy the fantasy while it lasts. She gets a phone call midday and by evening she is meeting him at the train station. When she sees him her heart drops to her feet and she freezes for a moment. He just looks so real. Weary, yes, and injured, but warm and solid and happy when he sees her standing there. His eyes are bright gazing into hers, his arms strong around her, his lips soft against her own. She hopes this dream will last the whole night.

Inevitably, she wakes up. She doesn't even bother opening her eyes, for she knows this scene by heart. She is tired of looking at her cold, empty bed, so she presses her eyes tight against the tears that threaten to break through, letting out a choked sigh. She takes deep breaths, hoping to stem the tide, and listens to her own shaky exhale. But then she hears a whisper.

"Jean?"

She flinches at that familiar voice, and then all at once sits straight up, opening her eyes as she finally turns to look.

And there he is. The man she loves, just as in all her dreams, but for the first time he's still there when she wakes. "Lucien," she breathes, throwing herself into his chest.

He grunts at the sudden movement, and she remembers too late that he did not come home unscathed. She must not have hurt him too terribly, though, for in the next moment he's embracing her, and she lets the tears flow steadily against him.

"My darling, what is it?" he asks desperately.

"I thought it was a dream," she whispers. "I woke up, and I thought it was a dream, that you weren't here."

"Oh, Jean." His arms grow tighter around her, compressing her lungs in a way that's almost uncomfortable, but she relishes it. She would stop breathing altogether if it would keep him here with her. "I'm so sorry," he says. "It's not a dream, darling. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank you," she sighs, full to the brim with gratitude as he says all the words she needs to hear. When the tears have subsided, she leans up and gives him a tender kiss before settling against him again.

"I love you," he whispers, as she is beginning to drift off.

"I love you too," she replies. "Thank you for coming home."

Sleep claims them both rather quickly after that. She doesn't dream again that night, or for many nights after.

But then, she doesn't have to.