“Noah!” I say. “Noah! Wake up! It’s just a dream.”

Noah is thrashing in his sleep violently.

He’s moving so quickly that I get out of bed, in case one of his limbs accidentally comes into contact with me.

“Noah!” I say.

Noah suddenly wakes up. But he doesn’t look fully awake.

His eyes are partially glazed over.

He reaches for something at his side, but there’s nothing there.

“Where is it?” he says. His voice is strange, as if he’s still asleep.

He must be sleep walking or something.

But it seems like he’s in the middle of a nightmare.

“Where is it!” he says again, almost shouting. His voice is full of panic and worry.

“Noah!” I shout, as he gets out of bed quickly.

I don’t know what to do. I rush over and I hug him as tightly as I can.

Suddenly, he seems to wake up.

His eyes are fully awake now.

But he still looks terrified.

“Hana!” he says, looking at me, his eyes filling with joy and light. “I thought I’d lost you. They were all around me… You were… I couldn’t get to you.”

“It was just a dream,” I say in a soothing voice. “It’s OK. It was just a dream.”

Noah sits down on the edge of the bed and I sit next to him.

We don’t say anything for a moment, but he seems to have calmed down a little.

“Sorry,” he says. “I… should have told you. I get nightmares… They’re… pretty intense… I always wake up reaching for my gun, thinking they’re out there, trying to get me… that everyone I know and love is gone… dead… taken from me…”

“Did that happen to you when you were in the Seals?” I say.

It’s the first time I’ve ever really asked him anything about his time in the Seals.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. His voice sounds distant. It seems like it’s bringing back painful memories. “Some of the things I had to do… Some of the things we went through… They were horrible. Terrible.”

I don’t know what to say.

“Have you been to talk to anyone about these nightmares?” I say.

He shakes his head. “That’s not… I don’t do that,” he says.

“You know,” I say. “A lot of people coming back have PTSD. It’s normal. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” says Noah. “Because there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t have PTSD. That’s for people who had it much worse than me. That’s when things really get bad. No, I don’t have that.”

He’s shaking his head vigorously.

“But how often do you wake up reaching for your gun?” I say.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “A couple times a week,” he says. “If it’s a good week. If not, more.”

“I’m no expert,” I say. “But that sounds like PTSD in some way.”

He shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. He sounds a little angry.

“Noah,” I say. “I didn’t mean anything by it…It’s just that… I’m really starting to care about you, and I don’t want you to have to go through this all alone.”

“I’ve got to go,” says Noah suddenly.

He gets up and starts getting dressed.

“Noah,” I say. “Come on, stay. We can talk about this.”

“I don’t have anything I need to talk about,” says Noah.

Before I realize what’s actually happening, since my head is still heavy with sleep, Noah’s out the bedroom door and walking downstairs.

I follow him after throwing on a bathrobe over my naked body, but he’s already got the front door open. The last thing I want to do is cause a scene and follow him half naked out into the front yard, where someone might see me if they’re up and awake. After all, the newspaper guys tend to come out for deliveries around this time of night.

I watch his back as he walks away. He turns once to look at me. There’s a strange expression on his face, one of pain and something else… is it longing, regret, or something else altogether?

I head back inside with a heavy heart. I can actually feel the pain there, where there was nothing but joy only a few hours earlier.

So does Noah have PTSD, or something else? I’m not sure. Like I said, I’m certainly no expert, and I’m not going to try to diagnose him on the fly, without even the remotest hint of credentials.

But what I do know is that he definitely has a problem… whatever it is. And he’s apparently not willing to deal with it.

Isn’t it a little strange or perhaps hypocritical that he’s promoting this book about his experiences, trying to promote a positive message, yet he’s having these flashbacks so many nights of the week?

I can understand it… After all, how can I say that he’s hypocritical when I don’t tell him that he’s James’s father?

The moment never came tonight… I was so close to telling him… But things got in the way. Passion overcame me and I couldn’t get the words out. Temptation is always so close at hand. I don’t know how to get over that.

I should rush after him now, and tell him. But I can’t leave James here alone.

I should call him, but this isn’t the type of thing you tell someone over the phone.

Plus, am I really sure that I want to tell him?

If I tell him, he’s going to be involved in James’s life, not to mention mine. But I was envisioning this fairy tale version of things, where Noah and I would raise James together as a couple, whatever that means…

But is Noah ready to be a father? He is ready to raise James, or to be involved in a relationship with me?

I imagine the nightmares and the flashbacks are just the tip of the iceberg with this. Who knows, maybe he has unexplored anger issues. Maybe he’s simply not capable of being in a relationship.

What I know right now is that unless he gets this PTSD thing sorted out, I can’t count on him to be the stable man that I need in my life. I mean, it’s not the nightmares that are the main problem. If he’s not even willing to admit that he has an issue here and take charge and be a man and get it worked out by going to a therapist, for a start… then how do I know that he’s going to be able to work on other issues in his life?

If he won’t confront his issues, then how can I count on him?

I spend the rest of the night drinking instant coffee and staring off into space, deep in thought about my future. About my family’s future. And right now, my family is me and James.

And my mom and dad, but they’re not close…

It’s me and James, and it has been for a long time.

We’re fine, just the two of us.

Before I bring a man into the family, I need to know for sure that he can handle it, that he’s not going to let us down.

James and I have gotten along fine together so far. I’m a good mother. I don’t need someone with all sorts of issues coming in and screwing everything up.

I’m surprised by the turn of my own thoughts, but something about seeing Noah in that state after the nightmare was like a wakeup call to me. I realize now that we’ve been in the honeymoon phase of getting to know each other.

That means that we only see the good things in each other… so far we’ve spent most of the time together having incredibly hot, passionate sex. There hasn’t been much time for the issues to crop up. But the issues always do.

Maybe I’ve been naïve about this whole thing. I’ve been convincing myself that I do need to tell Noah.

The sink in the kitchen is still full of dishes from the wonderful dinner that the three of us shared.

No one thought to clean them up, me included.

But Noah didn’t even offer. Should he have done that as a guest?

I know it seems like a small thing. After all, no one’s required to wash dishes at my house. But if he doesn’t offer to do things like that, what would it be like if I were actually living with him, and in a relationship with him?

I’m getting away ahead of myself. It’s my old anxiety creeping back up, imagining all these future possibilities. Worrying about things that haven’t even happened.

But maybe it’s good that I haven’t told him yet.

In the dark silence of the house, I hear my phone ringing in my purse.

I rush over to it so that it doesn’t wake up James.

After all, James is my priority.

Normally, I always turn off my phone before going to bed. But I guess Noah and I got carried away and I didn’t do the things I normally do.

Noah’s name appears on the caller ID.

Should I pick it up?