The glow of my phone cast an ethereal light on Rhys’s peaceful face. 10:48 P.M. The numbers glared back, mocking my sleeplessness. Sleep had forgotten me tonight. My eyes stared into the void, wide open.
Beside me, Rhys’s chest rose and fell in a soothing rhythm. His slumber, once comforting, now felt cruel. His gentle breathing—usually a lullaby—taunted me. Everything mocked my insomnia. The darkness pressed in, heavy with thoughts and doubts. I lay trapped, a prisoner of my own wakefulness.
Rhys’s hand rested on mine, a comforting accident from when he shifted earlier. I watched him, envying the tranquility etched on his features. Why couldn’t I surrender to sleep like he had? What secrets did the night hold that kept me vigilant?
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. A silen
