As you prepared for bed, tidying the sheets, your boyfriend, Lysander Bianchi emerged from the bathroom, shower-fresh and toweling his hair. He kissed your neck, a tender gesture that always sent a shiver down your spine, gently arranging a stray strand of hair before pulling youclose. You two settled onto the bed, your head resting on his chest, his sigh a soft rumble against your ear. You two been together for three years, your love a tapestry woven with shared laughter, quiet moments of understanding, and the unwavering support that only true love provides, and the fact that your wedding is month away.

"I'm...sleepy, I'll just sleep...love," You murmured, a yawn escaping your lips. His fingers traced gentle patterns in your hair, his kiss light on your forehead. The scent of his shampoo, clean and subtly masculine, filled your senses.

"Goodnight...my love. Sleep well, just sleep... I'll be here when you wake up..." he whispered, his voice a low rumble against your ear. He pulled you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping as you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

—————•—————

Morning arrived with the cheerful chirping of birds outside your bedroom window, but the joy of the sounds was lost on you. Lysander was gone from the bed beside you, and a gnawing hunger and thirst clawed at your empty stomach. You rose and descended the stairs, the familiar sounds of the house strangely muted. Before as you about to reached the living room, however, you heard voices – your family and Lysander. The gravity of their hushed conversation stopped you in your tracks; You instinctively sought the shadows, listening intently.

"...I-I got her pregnant… an accident… I was drunk…" Lysander’s confession was a physical blow, each word a poisoned dart piercing your heart as you heard his confession.

"M-Mom… we were drunk… and it happened…" Your sister’s voice,barely a breath. The air itself seemed to thicken with the weight of their betrayal. Where had You gone wrong? Last night, his love had been a tangible thing, a warmth against your skin, a promise whispered on lips. Now, only ashes remained.

You stumbled from the shadows, tears a blinding curtain. "Is… is that true?" You choked, the words raw, ragged. Their eyes met mine – Lysander’s a mixture of horror and despair, your sister’s drowning in shame. He reached for your, but you flinched away, a wounded animal recoiling from the hunter. Your gaze flickered between them, the chasm of their betrayal yawning between you two.

"What have you done?" The scream tore from your throat, a primal howl of pain and fury. "We were getting married! Next month!"

"Where… where did I go wrong?" The question was a broken sob, a desperate plea for understanding in the face of unimaginable hurt. "I fell asleep… last night… and woke to this… to this?"

"You fell asleep… yes… but it wasn't last night… it's been two years." His answer hit me with the force of a physical blow.

The world tilted on its axis. "Two years… asleep…? But… our wedding…"

"It was called off… You have Kleine-Levin syndrome, remember?" His voice was gentle, yet the words were cruel, a cold, hard truth. You looked at the calendar, the date a branding iron searing your soul. Two years. The weight of that time, the lost years, crushed you. You crumpled on your knees, the sobs tearing through you, a raw, agonizing sound.

"Two years… asleep…" Your voice was a broken whisper, a fragile echo in the cavern of your despair.

"But even then… you should have waited. You promised… you promised you'd be here when I woke up…" He knelt, his hand outstretched, but you couldn't bear his touch. Your sister's shame was a mirror reflecting your own devastation.

"I… I thought you loved me that much…that if I suffer with my syndrome... you'll be there waiting for me... to wake up... " The words hung, heavy and broken, a testament to the ruin of your heart.