I’m having the strangest dream.

I know it’s a dream because I feel like I’m floating. It’s a strange sort of weightlessness—odd, but not uncomfortable. When I hold my hand out in front of me, it looks and feels like my hand. But when I curl and uncurl my fingers, that odd weightlessness seems to permeate the movement.

Otherwise, my surroundings seem more or less normal. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was just standing in one of the corridors of the palace. I’m surrounded on all sides by a comforting, embracing warmth. It wraps itself around me like a blanket, making me feel sleepy.

But if this is a dream, I’m already asleep, right?

I turn. There’s light spilling from a room only a couple of doors down from where I stand. And smells—the air is heavy with delicious scents. Cinnamon and cloves. Rosemary and garlic. Something spicy and smoky. I hear things, too—laughter. Cheerful instrumental music. The clinking of glasses and plates.

I move toward the room, delighted anticipation filling me. I don’t know what awaits me in that room, but I know it’s something good.

When I reach the doorway, I stop dead in my tracks, just watching the scene in front of me. My entire family is here—including all of my siblings—celebrating. There’s a crackling fire in the large fireplace on the far side of the room. Beside it, a long table is covered with various treats and desserts and a simmering bowl of mulled wine. Beyond that, a tall fir tree with ribbons wound through its boughs stands next to a window. Outside, a light, fluffy snow is falling, and the windows are laced with an intricate pattern of frost. As my eyes move back to my family, though, I realize there are far too many of them. It’s not just my parents, my siblings, and various spouses and significant others…but there are a number of children, too. Far more children than I was expecting. Far more children than I recognize.

But wait—that’s wrong.

As I stare at the various children in the room—big and small, boys and girls, all scampering about and laughing and eating sweets—a jolt of recognition hits me deep in my gut. I don’t know these children, but I know them.

Victoria turns and looks at me. Her hair is up, pinned back in a way that makes her eyes pop. She’s wearing a simple cocktail dress in burgundy velvet and holding a baby on her hip.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” she says, smiling and holding her free hand out to me.

I go to her. It’s hard to tear my eyes away from her beauty, but I also can’t keep from looking at the baby. My baby. The infant is dark haired and round faced and dressed in a festive little jumpsuit.

A boy, I think as I get closer. My son turns and looks at me, his big, curious eyes finding me. He lets out a gurgling sound and reaches toward me with chubby fingers.

I have a son. Even though I know this is a dream, joy fills me, threatening to burst out of me.

I’m halfway across the room to her when something—or, more accurately, someone—collides with my leg. Two little arms wrap around my knees, squeezing me.

“Daddy!” cries the little girl, looking up at me.

I start. But as I stare down at the girl—she looks like she might be two or three—the recognition takes hold of me again, filling in the gaps in my mind.

My daughter.

I reach down and scoop her up, and she squeals and holds onto my jacket.

I have children. I look around, half expecting another child to run up to me, but the others seem to belong to my various siblings. While I’m watching, Victoria comes to stand by my side.

I have the most beautiful, amazing wife in the world. And two beautiful, amazing children. I’m so overwhelmed I can’t even speak, but fortunately, I don’t have to.

“Merry Christmas,” Victoria says, standing up on her toes and leaning toward me. She kisses me delicately, her lips lingering on mine until the boy in her arms begins to fuss.

“Merry Christmas,” I return. My voice sounds thick, like honey. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, her eyes bright.

“I love you, Daddy!” cries the girl in my arms.

“Andrew!” calls someone behind me.

I hate to look away from my family, but I do, turning to find the source of the familiar voice. But everyone else in the room is talking or laughing or eating. No one appears to have called me.

With a shrug, I turn back around. Almost immediately the warm glow of love wraps around me again, filling me. I lean down to Victoria for another kiss.

“Andrew!” comes the voice behind me again, just before my lips touch my wife’s.

I straighten. Something is wrong.

“What is it?” Victoria asks.

I turn around. Once again, there’s no one there.

“I thought I heard…” I shake my head. “I’m going crazy.” In my heart, though, I remember the truth—that this is a dream. And dreams can shift and change without a moment’s notice, pulling you from a beautiful fantasy into a nightmare.

I won’t let it take me from here, I tell myself. No matter what. I’m staying with Victoria and our children. Staying in this room with the joy and happiness and love. I don’t ever want to wake up from this.

“Andrew! You have to wake up! Please, wake up.”

The voice calls right to my heart. I turn around again, unable to ignore it.

“Please,” begs the voice. “Please, wake up.”

I know that voice. But I don’t want to listen. I want to stay here.

“Go away,” I tell it. “I’m not leaving.”

“Andrew…”

With a jolt, the heaviness returns to my body. Heaviness and pain.

No. I won’t leave. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the weightlessness returns. The room appears around me again. Victoria and my children are with me. Everything is all right. We’re all safe.

But something tugs at me, trying to pull me back. I resist.

And then I hear the voice again, and this time it sounds like it’s on the verge of tears.

“Please, Andrew. I can’t do this without you.”

Victoria. Victoria is the one calling me.

I turn back to the dream-version of my wife, but she’s already dissolving, our children with her. They dissipate into a million shining gold flecks. I reach toward them, but they slip right through my fingers.

And I have somewhere I need to be.

This time, the weight slams into me, making me gasp. My entire body is immobilized, heaviness and pain weighing me down.

But I need to be here. I can’t leave.

My eyelids each seem to weigh a ton. I can’t open them. But I can hear—the murmur of voices, the beeping of something electrical, the shuffle of footsteps. And I can feel—most of my body is cold, but there’s a distinct warmth wrapped around my fingers. Someone is holding my hand.

It has to be Victoria. I still don’t have the strength to open my eyes—let alone speak—but I try to move my fingers, to squeeze her hand back and let her know I’ve heard her. That I’ve returned to her.

It takes three tries before I can move anything, and even then, I’m not sure it’s enough. But then I hear her suck in a breath.

“Andrew,” she says, and I can hear the desperation in her voice. “Can you hear me?”

I try to move my finger again, and this time I must be more effective, because she calls out, “Doctor! Doctor, come here!”

I still can’t speak or open my eyes, but apparently I don’t need to. Victoria raises my hand up to her lips, squeezing my fingers as she kisses them. A tear drops onto my knuckles.

“Thank God,” she whispers. “Thank God.”