Part I: Broken Foundations (family struggles, early heartbreak, first hints of daydreams)
Part II: Daydreams Meets Reality (daydream world, betrayal, heartbreak, reconciliation, forgiveness, faith, family hug, bittersweet reflections)
Part III: Shadows and Lessons (personal growth, reflection, hope, and lessons from love and forgivenes
Book: Daydreams Meets Reality
Part I: Broken Foundations
I grew up knowing love and pain could coexist in the same house. My dad tried — he really did — to give me everything he could, to shield me from the cracks in our family. But my mom… I never understood her. Some days, it felt like she loved me, and others, like I was invisible. My brother was rude, sharp, distant, and I couldn't tell if he cared about me at all.
I learned early that love wasn't always simple, wasn't always safe. I stayed quiet, observing, protecting my heart. Every kind word, every small gesture of care felt like a treasure because I knew how easily it could be taken away.
Even as a child, I felt the ache of not being fully understood, of being judged for who I was or what I felt. Criticism was constant, love conditional. And yet, I kept smiling. I smiled to survive, to hide the storm inside me, to convince the world — and maybe myself — that I was okay.
But the truth lived quietly in my chest: I was not okay. My heart was heavy with longing, with questions, with unspoken hurt. And in that emptiness, I discovered daydreams — a place where love didn't hurt, where families were whole, where I could imagine a world that felt safe and real, if only for a moment.
I would close my eyes and imagine a life I could never have: a life where love was steady, where care was constant, where mistakes didn't destroy everything. That world became my refuge, my secret place of hope and heartache intertwined.
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Part II: Daydreams Meets Reality
I imagine us — my husband, our little boy who's maybe seven, and me. He loves spending time with his brothers, like the royal brothers of Dubai, laughing, teasing, sharing moments that make them inseparable. I watch them, my heart full, yet there's always a quiet ache, because I feel like an outsider looking in.
And then… there's her. His girlfriend. I didn't know about her, but somehow, being a September baby, I notice things others don't. I observe, I sense, and I see what's hidden.
The worst part — the part that shattered me — was when I found out through his phone. It was like thunder striking through my veins, exploding inside my chest. My heart felt like it was bursting. No voice could express the pain I was going through. I just… felt it, raw and overwhelming, pulsing in every corner of me.
I couldn't stay there. Not another second. We were sitting at the table, eating with his brothers, laughing as if everything was perfect, as if I didn't just see the truth. I pushed my chair back and walked out into the cool night air, trying to breathe, trying to make sense of the storm inside me.
I leaned against the wall, shivering, letting the tears fall. Every good memory we had — every laugh, every touch, every shared secret — flashed before my eyes, colliding with the pain that tore through me. My chest felt impossibly heavy, as if it could crush me from the inside.
He ran after me, calling my name softly. I hesitated, but I wanted a little comfort, so I agreed to let him give me a ride home. In the car, the hum of the engine did nothing to quiet the storm inside me. I pushed the door open and bolted out, running to the roadside, crying and screaming. The night air stung my face, but I didn't care. I needed to let the pain out, though it still wasn't enough.
Even as I cried, I realized he was in pain too. But I couldn't give him the chance to explain. Without a word, he lifted me into his arms. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me through the mansion to our bedroom, careful not to let me catch a cold.
Once inside, my wet feet slipped on the polished floor, and I fell. Our son saw me, wide-eyed and concerned. "Daddy… what happened to Mommy? Why does she look like that?" he asked. I couldn't answer. My husband froze too, realizing how fragile everything had become.
I went to bed, still trembling. As I started to cry softly, he held me tightly, his warmth and presence easing a small part of the storm inside me. But the closeness hurt too much, and I pushed him away, punching him in frustration. He held me tighter and whispered, "I'm so sorry… I didn't know I could hurt you like this. I will never cheat again. I will never let go of you — not in this life, not in the next."
He wiped my tears and cried with me. "Your tears… they're expensive. I can't afford them, dear. I've been holding myself back from crying since you got out of the car and came home."
Then he handed me his phone and explained. "I did it because my culture allows men to marry multiple wives, and my friends influenced me. I never wanted to hurt you." He showed me every message as proof. My chest tightened, my heart pounded, but I saw the raw regret in his eyes.
I forgave him. I gave him a second chance. Not because it didn't hurt — my heart still ached — but because everyone deserves a second chance. It's written: forgiveness doesn't mean it won't hurt, but because God says so. We couldn't let go of each other, no matter how deep the pain.
I held him tight, lying against his chest, thinking of how Jesus didn't hold a grudge against Judas. Somehow, that truth made the pain feel a little less heavy. Our son, who had been worried about me, ran into the room and jumped into our big hug. We held each other — three of us — and for the first time in hours, maybe days, there was a fragile peace.
As I walked up from my daydreams, the storm inside me didn't disappear; it just changed shape. The worst part was that I felt every moment — the love, the tenderness, the connection — but it wasn't my life. Not really.
And yet, even in that pain, there was a sweetness I couldn't let go of. I whispered in my heart: I would give anything to live like that. The longing, the ache, the unfulfilled dreams — they hurt so deeply, but I couldn't stop holding onto them.
It was a sweet pain, heavy and tender all at once. Even though reality was back and the daydream had ended, my heart clung to it, unwilling to let go, unwilling to forget the world I had lived in for just a little while.
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Part III: Shadows and Lessons
I've learned that heartbreak doesn't end with tears or forgiveness. It lingers, quietly shaping you, teaching you lessons you can't find anywhere else.
I carry the memory of daydreams with me — the love, the laughter, the fragile family — and let it remind me that hope and joy exist, even in pain. Forgiveness doesn't erase hurt, but it allows love to grow, even stronger than before.
And so I walk forward, carrying the lessons of my daydreams and reality intertwined, ready to face the world with a heart that knows heartbreak, forgiveness, and the courage to love again.