The darkness was thick, pressing in from all sides, as Derek tossed and turned restlessly in his sleep, trapped in a nightmare he longed to escape. Something about the dream felt familiar—perhaps it was the fuzzy, disorienting feeling, like looking through a broken lens.

He was small again, no more than seven years old. His legs dangled from the back seat of a car that felt both familiar and distant. His hands moved across the screen of a small device, playing a building-block game.

A man, presumably his biological father, sat in the driver's seat, humming softly. His deep voice calmed the tense air and lulled Derek into a sense of security. A woman, most likely his biological mother, sat in the passenger seat, quietly conversing with the man. Next to him, a baby no older than ten months slept in an infant car seat, clutching a silver necklace. Despite the peaceful setting, little Derek sensed something was wrong. A feeling told him he had been here before, had lived through this, but couldn't quite remember why.

He shifted in his seat, his fingers hesitating over the game console. A strange sense of foreboding crept in—the kind that made his eyes dart up from the screen, peeking at the man's reflection in the rearview mirror. The man's face now wore a slight frown; his eyes flickered nervously to the sides of the road.

"Honey, are you okay back there? Is your sister still sleeping?" the woman asked. Before Derek could respond, a blinding light pierced the dream, followed by a deafening roar. A truck, barreling out of nowhere from the left, appeared; its headlights glared like a predator's eyes. Derek opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came.

"Oh, my God, Tyler! Tanya!" he heard the woman cry as she turned in her seat.

The world slowed. Every second dragged as the truck collided with their car. The impact was brutal. Metal crunched, glass shattered, and the car spun wildly out of control. Derek's small body was jerked around in his seatbelt as the car somersaulted. His mother's scream was cut short by the horrifying screech of metal on pavement. The sleeping baby awoke, crying loudly. The game console slipped from Derek's hands, disappearing into the chaos as he reached for his baby sister. The car flipped again and again.

Derek's heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. Blood trickled down his face, warm and sticky. Everything hurt. He was crying, though he couldn't hear himself. The world was a blur of blood, broken glass, and twisted metal. Then, silence. Even the baby stopped crying.

The car had stopped, resting on its side, crumpled like a discarded toy. Derek's tiny body was trapped, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. The pain was overwhelming, but the silence terrified him most. "Mommy?" he cried, when neither parent moved or responded.

He tried to get out of his seat, wanting to check on his sister and parents, when he heard a door opening. Through his bloodied vision, he saw a shadowy figure emerge from the wreckage of the truck. The figure approached the car with eerie calm. The footsteps were wrong—too slow, too deliberate. Initially distant, they grew louder, closer, with each agonizing second. Derek's breath hitched; fear coursed through his veins.

His eyes widened in terror as the figure knelt beside the car, peering into the shattered window, checking to see if they were still alive. Derek's heart raced as his gaze flickered to his father, slumped in the driver's seat, blood pooling beneath him. His mother was motionless, her face pale in the moonlight. Derek's tiny body trembled, helpless, as the figure leaned closer, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a gun.

Bang. The figure shot Derek's father. The figure straightened, raised the weapon, and fired again. Derek's blood ran cold; he shut his eyes tightly as he heard the second gunshot—his mother. Each shot reverberated through the dream like a thunderclap, shaking him to his core. Derek's sobs were silent, his voice trapped. He tried to move, to scream, but his body refused to obey.

The figure stepped back, surveying the scene as though it were just another job. The nightmare closed in, suffocating him. He was drowning in blood, glass, and endless silence. His chest heaved as though he'd been running for miles. Sweat drenched his face, mingling with tears that streamed uncontrollably. Derek jolted awake with a gasp, his chest heaving.

His eyes darted around the dimly lit room, struggling to make sense of where he was. Evelyn's voice, soft and urgent, broke through the haze. "Babe, hey hey, it's okay." His breath came in ragged gulps; his trembling hands clutched the blanket.

She sat beside him, her hands firmly gripping his shoulders, grounding him. "It's me. You're safe. It was just a dream."

Derek snapped his head toward her, his wide, haunted eyes locking onto hers, as the memories flooded back in vivid, unbearable detail. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking violently. "My mom my dad my sister they—" He couldn't finish. The words lodged in his throat like shards of glass. "They they're gone," he choked out, his voice cracking. "It wasn't an accident. They killed them I saw it. I saw everything." His words broke into raw sobs. Evelyn's heart shattered. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. Her voice was steady despite the lump in her throat. "I've got you, Derek. Let it out. I'm here."

He clung to her, his face pressed into her shoulder, his tears soaking through her nightgown. Each sob felt like a wave, threatening to pull him under. "I remember," he croaked. "I remember everything. The crash, the truck, the man he he shot them. He killed them, Evelyn. He killed my parents right in front of me."

Evelyn's arms tightened around him, her hand gently stroking his hair. "I'm so sorry, Derek," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I can't imagine how much that hurts, but you're not alone. I'm here now. You don't have to face this alone." Derek's breathing hitched. "I couldn't save them," he whispered. "I couldn't do anything. I only watched, and I I couldn't stop him."

Evelyn cupped his face in her hands, brushing away his tears. "You were just a child, Derek. None of this was your fault. None of it. Do you hear me?"

He nodded faintly, though guilt weighed heavily in his eyes. She pressed her forehead to his, her voice soft but firm. "You're not that scared little boy anymore. You survived something unimaginable, and you're here now. And I'm here with you. We are going to find your sister. I promise you, we will."

His sobs quieted; his breathing, though shaky, slowed as her words calmed the storm inside him. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, his tears finally subsiding. "Thank you," he murmured.

Evelyn pulled him close, holding him tightly. "Always," she said softly. "I'll always be here for you."

They stayed like that for a long time, the silence filled only by his breathing evening out. Derek didn't let go, and neither did Evelyn. Evelyn wasn't sure what triggered the memory, but she understood how traumatic the incident must have been for him to have forgotten it for so long.