This dream was better than waking. But, as with all dreams, reality breaks the fragile bubble. He came and went with shocking speed. Bearing gifts, weaving dreams and peeling back years of frustration and pain. She should really hate him but she couldn't. Not because of the lost chance at love nor because of the deceit but because of her part in this beautiful charade.
She allowed herself to feel young again, to feel warm and receptive. It was a feeling that had been lost long ago. The remembrance made her feel foolish, but not for being drawn in to the dream but for ever letting it go in the first place.
It didn't matter any more. The deceit was her own, not his. It was she who had not allowed herself to be happy. His actions had merely lit up the way back. Now she had to swallow the fear and walk on.