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Max wasn't sure why he'd woken up at 3am until he turned to the other side of the bed to reach for Helen only to realize she wasn't there. He rubbed his eyes groggily before getting up in search of her. They'd only officially been living together for a few weeks, but he already knew it wasn't uncommon for her to just start packing up boxes after jolting awake suddenly from a nightmare. He'd already witnessed her experience a few too many of those for his liking.
He checked the bathroom first when he saw the light on, and when she wasn't there, he went to the next logical place - the kitchen. Sure enough, Helen stood rigid by the stove, pouring the tea in her cup. He leaned on the doorframe content with just watching her making this place her home. As if she could sense him she turns around, gracing him with a small smile.
"What're you doing up?" she asked, grabbing her cup.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"Don't," she chided, although Max wasn't entirely sure she was joking. He rolled his eyes.
"You know, I'll never understand your love for that." He gestured towards the mug.
"For what? Turning this into a proper kitchen?"
"You’re funny." She smirked.
"So you’ve said."
"So," he dragged out. "You know, you never actually told me what you’re doing up." Helen faltered, grin falling slightly.
"Max-" she started to make an excuse, but he cut her off. "Burden me."
"Just a bad dream." He waited for her to continue. Her red-rimmed eyes and shaky hands told a different story.
She sighed, knowing he could see right through her. “I was in London, I was at the clinic and I was holding this paper. This little paper that felt impossible I didn’t believe it. It wasn't even in the realm of possibilities in my mind. I grabbed every box I could carry and ran to the bathroom. Pink and blue sticks scattered across the sink confirming the happiest day of my life. And then,” she blinked back tears. “...and then I got this call. I don’t know exactly how I got there, but I was at this hospital. It felt so familiar yet so foreign at the same time, but this surgeon came out to the waiting room and said there wasn’t anything she could do. And then I was in this hospital bed. In a gown. And my mum was holding my hand telling me it wasn’t my fault...and then it just went dark. And then I woke up. ”
"Mohammed," Max whispered. He didn’t mean to say it out loud, it just slipped out.
"What?" Helen doubled back.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "You were whispering his name in your sleep. And so I figured. Helen, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know. That's what happened...with them." He settled with saying, unsure how to address what Helen just revealed to him. He chose to leave it for now, that conversation could wait for another day. She shrugged, unwrapping her hands from her mug.
"I still dream about him. Them. That day, sometimes. Not as much as I used to, but..." she blinked rapidly, pushing down the lump rising in her throat.
"Hey. C'mere," Max said gently, and Helen practically melted into his embrace.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as her tears soaked his shirt, although Max wasn't entirely sure she was apologizing to him.