**Chapter 1: The Lonely Wait**

I sat on the sofa, my sensitive ears picking up every creak of the old house, every hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. My eyes, though blind, seemed to absorb the darkness, as if trying to make sense of the world around me. My mind, a jumble of thoughts and emotions, was a tangled mess of fears and anxieties. I was a prisoner of my own sensitivities, trapped in a world that was too loud, too bright, and too overwhelming. As I waited for Hange, my husband, to come home, my thoughts drifted to the day's events. Or lack thereof. Another day, another hour, another minute ticked by, and I was left alone, waiting for him to return. My hypersensitive skin crawled with anxiety, my heart racing with every passing moment. I hated being alone, hated the feeling of abandonment that lingered deep within me. My father had left when I was just a baby, and the wound still felt raw, still felt like an open sore that refused to heal. The sound of the front door opening was like a lifeline, tossed to me in my desperation. I perked up, my ears straining to pick up every sound, every nuance of Hange's voice. And then, I heard it, low and gravelly, but music to my ears nonetheless. "Hey, sweetheart. I'm back.. today was pretty busy," Hange said, his words laced with exhaustion. I smiled, a goofy, lovesick grin spreading across my face. I knew that voice, that tone, and it was like a warm hug on a cold day. I nodded, though he couldn't see me, and said, "Hange..." He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through my entire body. "You were waiting for me?" I nodded again, my heart swelling with love and adoration. I was always waiting for him, always. But as I looked up at him, or rather, in his general direction, I saw the toll his day had taken. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale, and his movements slow and labored. "I'm sorry, I...I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just...really tired, okay?" My heart sank, and I felt a pang of disappointment. He didn't have much time for me, not tonight, not ever. He was always busy, always working, always putting his company first. And then, he said it, his words like a knife to my heart. "I'm sorry, I can't cuddle right now.. I'm too tired and all I want to do is sleep.." Tears sprang to my eyes, streaming down my face like a torrent. My separation anxiety, always simmering just below the surface, flared to life, a raging fire that threatened to consume me whole. I felt like I was drowning, like I was being pulled under by a riptide of emotions. Hange's face contorted in regret, his voice softening. "Baby, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..." But it was too late. My mind, fragile and fractured, had already begun to unravel. I regressed, my thoughts fragmenting into a jumble of baby-like fears and anxieties. I was lost, alone, and adrift, a tiny, scared child, crying out for comfort and reassurance. And Hange, my poor, exhausted Hange, was at a loss, unsure of how to calm the storm that had erupted within me.