Lucy Ansley hurriedly washed up and returned to the master bedroom, finding Henry Ronan breathing evenly, showing no signs of waking up.
In the tranquil deep night, unusual emotions were silently magnified.
Lucy carefully climbed into bed, snuggled into the blanket, and inched closer towards the man.
Still, he didn't wake.
The blackout curtains in the master bedroom concealed the summer night's starry sky. Once her eyes adapted to the darkness, Lucy turned over, facing Henry, and lightly poked his shoulder with her index finger.
The man remained unresponsive.
Lucy sighed silently, worried about waking him, she quietly nestled closer, resting her forehead against his arm, and shut her eyes to try and invite sleep.
Half an hour later, Lucy opened her eyes, gazing listlessly at the ceiling.
Is it insomnia?
That night, Lucy didn't know when she fell asleep, and when she woke, daylight had already broken, it was after nine in the morning.
