March 16th 1997

It was wrong, all of it was wrong. The meeting, the park, the restaurant, the kisses. It wasn't good, despite the sweet bliss she felt during all of it. She could have fooled herself into thinking that everything in her life was perfect, if she had never met him that night. But she soon realized that it wasn't meeting him that was wrong. It wasn't the park or the restaurant or the kisses. It wasn't the things he said or the way her name spilled gracefully from his lips. It was her, it was all her. She was wrong.

She was the one to think that she could successfully share some sort of life with Will without the one she had already made with Stan interfering.

A week and a half went by since their night in the restaurant. The place was a bit run-down, far from the uptown five-star places she became accustomed to over the years. The coffee had been weak, too cold for it to be freshly made, as their menu so boldly stated under the "Beverages" section. It didn't matter to her. She had Will's eyes and his voice to comfort her. She had his touch and his laugh to stimulate her. She had his kiss after they left to keep her wanting more.

But as soon as she saw Stan that night, everything came crashing down, like she was reaching for something on the highest shelf, and ended up taking everything else down in the attempt. This was not how a married woman was supposed to act. She was supposed to love her husband, no matter what got in their way. Marrying Stanley Walker not only forced her to inherit his lifestyle, but two stepchildren as well. Karen knew she was not mother material; her own mother never really did serve as a maternal role model, despite her attempts at something resembling parenting. One night, she even apologized to him, although he had not been angry or disappointed. "I'm so sorry, Stanley," she said in a child's voice. "I just don't know how to do this." He kissed her lightly on the cheek before telling her that it was okay, that everything was okay. She wanted to be a good stepmother to his children. She failed. Still, Stan seemed to love her for trying.

He tried to make her feel loved, but failed most of the time. But at least he tried. So why couldn't she love him for that?

Will had given her a crumpled piece of paper before they parted that night. In his slanted handwriting was written "WILL TRUMAN," underneath that, his phone number, underneath that, "CAN'T WAIT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE." She placed it in a drawer in her nightstand that she knew Stan would never look through; he was never one to snoop. She left it there, never opening up the drawer for it to see the light of day. Karen figured if she kept it hidden from her sight, she would eventually forget about it. She would eventually forget about him. She could try to piece together her marriage so that it could be whole once again.

But, as with many things in her life, that wasn't the way it worked.

Her previous dreams of meeting Will once again, being in his arms outside of the restaurant before walking under streetlights and going to his apartment, had been replaced with a more revised edition. This new recurring dream seemed to pick up where her last dream left off. The sun beat down on red sheets, on her face. She was in a bedroom she didn't recognize, sheets drawn up to her chest, protecting her bare body underneath them. When she turned on her side, it wasn't Stan asleep next to her, but Will. She reached for him, letting her fingertips dance along his arm, her cue for him to wake up. His brown eyes slowly became visible as he opened them wider and wider, sensitive to the light shining through the window. A smile crept onto his face as he wrapped his arms around her, brushing his lips against hers. "Good morning," he always said, his voice heavy with sleep. Some nights, he would get up and leave before she woke up. But she loved the nights when he would stay in bed with her. He would ask her, "Do you love me?" But before she could answer, she was thrust back into reality, into the darkness of her own room, the silence of her own husband sleeping next to her.

After a few nights of the same dream, Karen realized that she wouldn't be able to rid herself of Will so easily, if at all. She would have to move to more drastic measures.

But on second thought…

She took the time to think everything over. Was she really a bad person for wanting to follow her heart? Sure, doing that had led her to Stan, but what if it wanted something else now? What if it needed to be free? Besides, she's only human. She definitely wasn't the first woman in the world to ever feel this way before. Maybe she wasn't even the first person in this household to feel this way before. Who's to say that Stan hasn't thought about other women at one point or another? Who's to say he hasn't acted upon those desires? As much as she didn't want to think about her husband cheating on her, it would make her out to not be the bad guy in this situation. If he has done it, too, they're even.

But how could she be so sure, so early on, that this is what she wanted? Sure, Will was smart, seemed to know everything about her without her ever having to speak the words, he made her feel loved, wanted, needed. But was it Will that intrigued her, or just the novelty, the thrill, of an affair? Could he truly be the one she had been looking for?

What's the use, Karen asked herself. She already knew the answer.

Stan had left for work, the kids were at school. She had the house to herself, and she knew she wouldn't be caught; no one was home, and the help that Stan had hired kept their distance. She opened up the drawer, took the piece of paper in her hand, let her thumb slide over the creases and wrinkles, not in an attempt to smooth them out, but to ride the route that Will's fingers might have taken. She took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed the number he had written. One ring, two. He cut off the third in the middle of its song. "Hello?" he said.

"Will? It's Karen," she started, then realized how long it had actually been since they last saw each other, the short amount of time they'd spent with each other. "Walker," she quickly added, just in case.

She could hear his smile in his voice. "I know who you are. I was beginning to think you didn't want to see me anymore."

"No, it wasn't that. It's just…complicated. With Stan and everything, I…I just need to figure out how to slip out of the house unnoticed, that's all. Truth is, I miss you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

There was a pause. "Are you free tonight? 9:30 at the restaurant, and then we can go from there?"

"Karen?" Damn. She heard the chorus of the kids' voices calling her name. They must have just gotten home from school. Her pulse quickened with the fear of being caught. She knew that being the outsider of their family meant that Olivia and Mason automatically had a loyalty towards their father and were liable to throw her under the bus at any moment. Sure, they liked her, they wanted to be around her, but when it came down to it, they would side with Stan any day. She cupped her hand to the phone, in an attempt to remain unheard. "I'll be there," she said to Will.

"I can't wait to hold you in my arms again. I'll see you then." They hung up, and Karen lingered on her bed, remembering his voice, smiling at the promise of his touch on her skin once again.

"Karen?" she heard again, this time clearer, closer. She turned to find Olivia at the door, gave her a soft "What is it, honey?" before standing up.

"Come here. I want to show you something."

She nodded and followed her stepdaughter's lead, towards the project she did in school that earned her an A.

And just like that, she was once again thrown into reality.