Dare to Dream by Donna Hill

better,” she said on a whispered breath. She looked away.
    “What do you mean…getting better?”
    Desiree inhaled deeply and straightened her shoulders, then slowly told him what had happened, at least parts of it. She left out the part about her losing everything, that she was still afraid to go to sleep, that she couldn’t paint, that all she had left in the world was a meager savings account and her car and that she owed Carl Hampton thousands of dollars.
    “Oh, Des…I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
    She lowered her head to hide the tears and the pain that lingered in her eyes.
    Lincoln got up and sat beside her. With caution, he put his arm around her, drawing her head to rest on his shoulder.
    “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re still here. That’s the only thing that matters. God…if I had lost you,” he uttered in a strangled voice and pulled her closer, stroking the wiry twists of her hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her. He couldn’t imagine the possibility of never seeing her again.
    “What are your plans? You know you can stay here as long as you want,” he offered.
    “Thanks.” She sniffed hard and eased out of his embrace. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “There was no reason to put all of that on you.” She shook her head. “It’s not your concern.”
    Abruptly he stood and looked down at her lowered head. “Not my concern? Isn’t that where our problems started, when you decided that things that affected both of us weren’t my concern?” His voice shook from the years of holding back, of waiting for this moment of confrontation. “Did you honestly believe that what was happening to you had nothing to do with me?” He paced, then shot back at her, “I lost our baby, too. Did you ever once think about how I felt?”
    They stared at each other, neither willing to back down or find a middle ground.
    Desiree stood, her mouth set in a firm line of defiance. She walked right up to him.
    “You have no idea what it feels like to have a life growing inside of you,” she said, speaking in measured beats. “And then in the blink of an eye, it’s gone and all your chances for another…” Her voice broke. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air, willing herself not to cry again.
    “Desiree.” He reached for her.
    “Don’t.” She held up her hands. “I don’t want your sympathy, Lincoln.” She turned away.
    “Sympathy? Is that really what you think?” he asked, totally stunned.
    “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, my ‘situation.’” She raised her chin. “I’ve been doing perfectly fine by myself.”
    “I see.” The corners of his mouth dipped in disappointment. He walked toward the door and opened it. “The offer to stay as long as you need still stands,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t bother you again. I was a fool to think… Goodbye, Desiree.”
    The next sound she heard was the door rattling in its hinges. She turned toward it, her eyes resolute and her soul empty. “How could I ever tell you that I’m no longer a real woman?” she whispered.
    Slowly she turned back around and took in her space. Maybe she should go back home. Home . What a joke. She walked through the cabin and out the sliding door that led to the back.
    He would never understand, she reasoned, taking a seat on a high, flat rock while she watched the water trickle between the intricate pathways of the garden. He had no idea the kind of pressure and expectations that were put on her by her oversized, in-your-face family—the main reason why she moved from the family enclave in Charlotte, North Carolina, to attend school in D.C. After graduation she kept going, straight to New York.
    Her immediate family was the size of a small town and that did not include the tribe of extended aunts, uncles and cousins through marriage or otherwise. The Armstrong family reunions made the Charlotte Times every year as one of