I'll never stop dreaming that one day we can be a real family

Host: The morning fog rolled across the empty park, softening the edges of everything — the swing set, the bench, the old oak tree that had seen better days. A pale sun was trying to break through the mist, and the air smelled faintly of earth and rain. Jack sat on the bench, his coat collar up, a cup of coffee cooling beside him. Jeeny stood nearby, watching a few children run through the wet grass, their laughter echoing like a memory.

Host: It was a quiet morning, the kind that hides pain in its stillness. A morning that feels like it’s holding its breath.

Jack: (staring straight ahead) “You ever notice how families in movies always seem to laugh together? Like, no one’s angry, no one’s gone. Just… happiness, clean and simple.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the dream, Jack. Not reality — just a dream. But a necessary one.”

Jack: “Dreams don’t fix broken things, Jeeny. They just paint over the cracks.”

Host: Jeeny turned toward him, her hair catching a ray of light that finally slipped through the clouds. There was tiredness in her eyes, but also a soft fire, the kind that doesn’t go out easily.

Jeeny: “LaToya Jackson once said she’d never stop dreaming that one day her family could be whole again. Together, laughing, loving, understanding. Maybe that’s not painting over cracks, Jack. Maybe that’s remembering what the wall looked like before it fell apart.”

Jack: (smirking) “You and your metaphors. But you know what I see when I hear that? I see denial. Families don’t heal just because someone dreams they will. They heal when people stop pretending they didn’t hurt each other.”

Host: The wind stirred, shaking loose a few leaves from the oak tree. They spiraled down between them like small ghosts of past words unspoken.

Jeeny: “So you’re saying there’s no hope? That the past just owns us forever?”

Jack: “I’m saying reality owns us. People don’t change just because we want them to. Look at the Jacksons themselves. Fame, money, tragedy — all that chaos, and still, she dreamed. But it didn’t bring them back together.”

Jeeny: “No, it didn’t. But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe dreaming isn’t about fixing others. It’s about keeping yourself from turning cold.”

Host: Her voice trembled, not from weakness, but from depth. The kind of tremor that comes when you’ve spent your life trying to hold something that keeps slipping away.

Jack: “Cold keeps you alive. Fire burns you.”

Jeeny: “Fire also keeps you from freezing.”

Host: The fog began to thin, revealing more of the world — a dog walker, a couple arguing quietly by the lake, a child chasing a red balloon that escaped his hand.

Jeeny’s gaze softened at the sight.

Jeeny: “You ever wonder what it would be like, Jack? To have everyone together again — your father, your brother, your mother — no bitterness, no silence. Just one meal, one laugh that isn’t forced?”

Jack: (pausing) “Every day. But that’s not how it works. My father’s too proud, my brother’s too angry, and my mother stopped believing years ago. Some things are too broken to mend.”

Jeeny: “Nothing’s too broken to forgive.”

Jack: “Forgive, maybe. But not to fix.”

Host: The sunlight grew stronger, and for a moment, Jack’s face softened, the lines of bitterness giving way to something else — regret, perhaps, or memory.

Jeeny: “Do you remember when your brother came to see you in the hospital? You didn’t talk, but he sat there for hours. That was love, Jack. Silent, awkward, but real. You just didn’t recognize it.”

Jack: “That was guilt.”

Jeeny: “You always confuse the two. Sometimes guilt is love that doesn’t know how to speak.”

Host: Jack’s hands clenched, his jaw tightening, the coffee cup trembling slightly.

Jack: “You think words fix everything, Jeeny. You think if we just say the right thing, everyone suddenly forgives and laughs again. But words don’t erase what people do.”

Jeeny: “No. But they remind us that we still care enough to try.”

Host: The children’s laughter carried through the air again — bright, unguarded, pure. Jack’s eyes followed them, then lowered, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of their innocence.

Jeeny: “Dreaming isn’t weakness, Jack. It’s the only way to survive disappointment. Without dreams, pain is just pain. With them, it’s something we can grow through.”

Jack: “You sound like my mother before she gave up on my father. She used to say things like that too — that hope could heal him. But he didn’t want to be healed. He just wanted someone to believe his lies.”

Jeeny: “And she did — because she loved him. That’s not foolishness, Jack. That’s courage.”

Host: A gust of wind swept through, lifting the mist entirely. The park was suddenly clear, bright, and open. The world, for a moment, looked possible again.

Jack: “You call it courage. I call it delusion.”

Jeeny: “Then why do you still dream of them, Jack? Why do you still go to your mother’s house every Christmas, pretending it’s just tradition? Why do you keep her letters?”

Host: Jack’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t expect her to know. He looked away, toward the lake, where the sunlight now glittered across the surface.

Jack: (quietly) “Because… because it’s the only part of them I still have.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You dream because you still want that ‘real family,’ even if it’s just in your heart.”

Host: Jeeny’s hand reached out, gently resting on his. The contact was light, almost uncertain, but enough to anchor the moment.

Jeeny: “You see, Jack, the past isn’t the enemy. It’s the foundation. We can’t erase it, but we can choose to build something different on top of it.”

Jack: “And what if it collapses again?”

Jeeny: “Then we build again. That’s what family means. Not perfection — persistence.”

Host: A bird landed on the bench rail, chirping once before taking off again, its wings catching light. Jack watched it go, and for the first time, his smile was genuine — fragile, but real.

Jack: “You really think we can start over? Not just pretend, but actually start new?”

Jeeny: “I don’t think, Jack. I believe. That’s stronger.”

Host: The sun broke free of the clouds completely now, casting long shadows behind them. The world seemed to exhale. A few children ran past, laughing, their voices echoing across the grass like music.

Jack: “You know, I used to think dreaming was for fools. But maybe… it’s just for survivors.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s both. Maybe we have to be fools to survive.”

Host: They both laughed softly, the kind of laughter that comes after tears.

Jeeny: “So, you’ll keep dreaming?”

Jack: “Yeah. Maybe not about fame, or money, or forgiveness. But about sitting around a table one day — all of us — talking, laughing. Like we used to. Like LaToya said — not looking back, only forward.”

Host: Jeeny nodded, her eyes shining. The wind had turned warm, lifting strands of her hair like threads of gold in the sunlight.

Host: The camera pulls back, leaving the two figures on the bench, their voices fading into the morning air. Around them, life stirs — the laughter of children, the rustle of trees, the distant hum of the city waking.

Host: And as the scene fades, only one truth remains, lingering like the last breath of fog over the lake:

Dreams don’t fix the past — they forgive it, by daring to imagine a gentler future.