Liv,” he murmured quietly, yet his voice rang so vividly it felt as though he were truly standing before her, “don’t wear the dress your husband gave you. Do you hear me? Don’t put on that dress.”
He repeated the warning three times, never breaking eye contact, and then slowly faded back into the darkness as if he had never been there at all.
Liv woke with a strangled cry that lodged in her throat and refused to escape. She rubbed at her temples, trying to chase away the disturbing vision.
Nonsense. Just a dream, an ordinary nightmare before an important day.
Tomorrow was her 50th birthday. Her daughter Nicole, called Nikki, and her family would be visiting. Friends were coming. A reservation was waiting at the Magnolia Grill. Naturally, she was overwhelmed, and that’s why her mind conjured such foolishness.
But why about the dress?
Liv shivered, squeezing the glass more tightly.
The dress.
Two weeks earlier, Mark had proudly presented her with a large box wrapped in a satin ribbon. Inside was a stunning evening gown, a deep emerald green, her favorite color. The fabric shimmered under the light, and the design complemented her figure while still appearing refined and modest.
“This is for your celebration,” Mark had said with a smile. “I ordered it from the seamstress Nikki recommended, Evelyn Reed, I think her name was. She said she’d take all your measurements into account. I want you to be the most beautiful woman at your 50th.”
Liv had been touched to the point of tears. Mark had never been particularly sentimental, always practical and steady. During their 20 years of marriage, she had grown accustomed to his gifts being considerate, though never extravagant. And now, this level of attention, this kind of care.
Yet something about the way he insisted struck her as odd.
“You absolutely have to wear this dress,” he had said more than once. “I want everyone to see how beautiful my wife is. No other dress is right. Do you understand? This day is special.”
She had joked it off at the time, replying, “Of course, I’ll wear it. How could I not after a gift like this?”
But something in his tone, in the way he looked at her when he spoke about the dress, left her with a faint, uneasy feeling. Still, she brushed it aside at once.
Mark just wants everything to be perfect. That’s why he’s worked up.
Liv rose and stepped to the window. The pre-dawn darkness still pressed against the glass. Only the far eastern sky was starting to pale. The microwave clock read 5:00 a.m. She still had an hour before her alarm, but she knew sleep wouldn’t return. Her father’s image lingered stubbornly.
She remembered him when he was alive, gentle, perceptive, always knowing when something troubled her. Even when she was well into adulthood, he treated her as if she were still a little girl who needed watching over.
“Mark’s a good man,” her father had said after the wedding. “He’s steady, but Liv, always listen to your heart. If something feels wrong, if worry nags at you, don’t brush it aside. A woman’s intuition doesn’t lie.”
Was this intuition speaking now, or simply nerves and exhaustion?
The past few months had been difficult. Work, endless house chores, preparations for the birthday. And on top of that, Nikki called almost daily to go over party details, worried about making everything flawless.
Liv went back to the bedroom. Mark was still asleep, hadn’t shifted at all. She studied his face in the dim light, those familiar features, the gray streaks at his temples, the fine lines around his eyes. Twenty years together, two full decades of shared life, joys, and challenges they had faced side by side.
How could she think anything ill of him because of a silly dream?
She lay down again, pulled the quilt over herself, and tried to even out her breathing. She counted slowly, trying to calm her mind, but sleep refused to come. Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, urgent and uneasy.
Don’t wear the dress from your husband.
By the time the alarm went off, Liv had been awake for a long while. She stared up at the ceiling, turning the same thoughts over in her mind.
Mark stretched, yawned, and rolled toward her.
“Morning, birthday girl?” he muttered, giving her a sleepy kiss on the cheek. “Sleep well?”
“Fine,” she answered, forcing a smile, though nerves fluttered beneath it. “Just a little anxious, I guess.”
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