"She" an original short for the #365daysofwriting challenge

This is today's offering (day 102) for @mydivathings' #365daysofwriting challenge (click here to see her current post)

Today's picture prompt (below) is a Photo by Avrielle Suleiman on Unsplash

I dream of her again. This time she is on a swing, like the ones we used to play on as children in the local park. Except she swings, not over grass - worn brown and thin by the playful scuffs of children’s shoes - but over a tropical forest of eucalyptus and palm. As she flies out over the treetops, she sings. But I can not hear the words, I can not make out the tune. I can not tell if the song is happy or mournful.

When I wake, my bed is damp with sweat, despite the chill in the room. The shower blasts away the stickiness, but the dream lingers in my mind. Why, after all these years, do I dream of her? Why won’t she leave me alone?

My wife is in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for Mel. She sings, and for a moment I think it is the song from my dream. My wife smiles at me and pours a coffee brings it over to me as I fumble with my laptop case. She kisses me and I return it, trying to pretend everything is normal. I drink my coffee and watch as my wife prepares her own bag. She leaves for work, and I take Mel to school.

Mel asks to be dropped off around the corner from the school. She doesn’t wave as she strides off. She doesn’t want to be seen with me, I realise. My little girl is becoming independent. She is growing into a woman. This is why I am dreaming of her now.

When it happened, she was almost the same age as Mel is now.

I am shaking. I pull the car over, wind the window down, taking deep gulps of polluted London air.

After all these years, I realise I can no longer keep the secret. She won't let me.

A police car draws up behind me. I have stopped on a red route. No stopping, no waiting. I take another deep breath, as I watch the police officer get out of the car.

I am calm. I have made my decision.

“Is everything alright, Sir?” the police officer, asks, his tone a mixture of concern and suspicion.

“Not really, officer,” I say, smiling. "But perhaps you can help me."