The seconds stretched into minutes, and I watched the rise and fall of her chest, my heart echoing the rhythm of her breaths. My fingers, entwined with the sheets, trembled with a mix of anxiety and longing. I yearned for her to drift off into dreams, to find solace in the embrace of sleep, so that I wouldn’t have to face the haunting stillness of the night alone.

The weight of my wish pressed upon me, a heavy burden of vulnerability. I feared the moment she would open her eyes, shattering the fragile illusion I had crafted – the illusion that I wasn’t desperately clinging to her presence, that I wasn’t afraid of being left alone with my thoughts, with the shadows that danced along the edges of my consciousness.

The nightmares came in waves, crashing over me with a force I couldn’t fight. The blood dripping down my legs, pooling at my feet, Bette’s desperately calling out my name, the hospital room, sterile and cold, the heart monitor’s steady beep a cruel reminder of the life that had slipped through my grasp. The doctor’s solemn words echoed in my ears, a haunting refrain that played on an endless loop. I coudln’t escape the images, the pain, the overwhelming sense of loss.

In the midst of this darkness, I was tormented by visions of what might have been, dreams that now lay shattered like fragile glass. The weight of guilt and blame settled on my shoulders, a heavy burden I could never fully cast off.

Paris outside the window continued to sing its lullaby of life. Bette’s eyes fluttered open, and in response, I closed mine. It was as though she wanted to make sure I was asleep. Slowly, she eased herself out of the bed, moving with the stealth of a nocturnal intruder. It was as if she had lost the audacity to dream, fading into the shadows of the night without a trace.

As she left our bedroom, a painful emptiness settled in its wake. With Bette’s absence, the weight of my nightmares crashed over me like relentless waves.