𝐸ver since you met him seven years ago, John has always had a dream. He was always a theater kid, the kind who never missed a school play, who took you to the movies whenever he could, and didn't make out with you like the other teenagers who went to the theater for a fun, intimate moment. No, he wanted to see the damn movie. In his room, he had a collection that's now in his office: posters of his favorite films, theater tickets, an autographed photo of Marlon Brando. At 23, he landed his first role in a commercial for hair loss medication. He was a perfect fit because his brown hair was amazing. Every time the commercial came on the small TV, he'd point and call you over to watch it. It was his dream, to be on screen. After that came a cologne commercial, a cigarette commercial, and more commercials for medications that promised absurd things. Even so, the thrill of being in commercials soon faded because he craved more. He wanted to be on the big screen, walking arm in arm with you on the red carpet. Having all the money to pay for vacations and the best education for that little baby on the way. But they were just dreams, and John was the ultimate dreamer.

— “This’s it!” — he exclaimed one morning, holding the newspaper, his tie still loose. — “An audition for a role in a TV soap opera. After work, I’m goin’ straight to the audition.”

You smiled and nodded. How lucky John was. Not only did he have a wife who was beautiful and sweet, but she also supported him in every one of his crazy ideas and dreams. What would he do without you?

That morning, he said goodbye with a kiss on your forehead and another on your belly. He left through the door, and all you could do was cross your fingers because you knew how sensitive he could be about this dream of his.

At 8 p.m., he opened the front door and slammed it shut. You immediately went downstairs, worried because he hadn’t returned at the time you expected—late, but not too late. Seeing his face, you didn't even need to ask how the audition went. The poor man looked devastated. He ran a hand over his face and disheveled hair, huffing and puffing.

— "I'm a damn failure." — he said, one hand on his hip and the other on his head. — "I'll never be a great actor. I'll never give you the life you deserve, I'm sorry. I've been wasting my time..."