Restless nights full of dark, violent dreams. Easily shaken off in the morning, but they come scraping and hobbling back. They catch me in the shadowed places between the streetlights, where the trees grow so tightly together they form a wall of branches and trunks. I can't help but look backwards over my shoulder as I walk, thinking of how I would protect my child from harm. Shake my head. Stop. Stupid overactive imagination.