I had this dream in 2013. I was 33 years old. My husband was 34. Our children were 10 and 11 years old. For many years afterward, I kept silent. Not because I forgot. Not because it faded. I kept quiet because it terrified me to my core. I did not know how to carry something that felt this heavy. I was afraid of falsely claiming it was from God. I was afraid of misrepresenting something sacred. And I was afraid — deeply afraid — of being labeled crazy. So I carried it alone.The dream began with me walking inside a massive moving crowd. Thousands of people pressed forward together, bodies close enough that personal space no longer existed. The air felt emotionally cold — sterile, empty, stripped of warmth — though the physical temperature itself was lukewarm. There was no comforting breeze, no freshness. Just stale, heavy stillness.