DEXTER'S POV
In the stillness of the night, I found myself ensnared by the tendrils of a dream that felt more real than the bed beneath me. I stood in a forest, the breath of nature brushing against my skin, the whispers of the trees echoing in my ears. It was a cathedral of greenery, alive, pulsating, with life's unending rhythm, the choir of the wilderness humming a symphony that seemed to exist outside of time.
In the heart of this verdant sanctuary, I spotted a small figure, diminutive against the towering trunks of ancient trees. My heart recognized him before my eyes did. It was my son, Drake, though he was no more than three years old in this dreamscape. His soft, pudgy cheeks, the mop of curls on his head gleaming golden in the dappled sunlight, presented an image that tugged at
