Fractured Moments

The darkness closed in around me like a shroud, suffocating me with its crushing weight. Hange's voice was a distant echo, a gentle whisper that tried to pierce the void. I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me close, but it was too late. My mind had already shattered, fragmenting into a million pieces that scattered across the floor like broken glass. As I trembled in his arms, Hange's touch sparked a memory – a recollection of a childhood birthday party, of laughter and smiles, of a fleeting sense of belonging. But it was a fragile thing, a delicate thread that snapped under the weight of my anxiety. I whimpered again, my body convulsing with sobs as the fear of abandonment clawed its way up my throat. Hange held me tight, his chest a warm, solid presence that seemed to anchor me to reality. He whispered words of comfort in my ear, his breath a gentle caress that soothed my frazzled nerves. Slowly, incrementally, I began to calm down, my heart rate slowing as his warmth seeped into my bones. But even as I quieted, my mind refused to still. It churned and twisted, replaying the hurtful words like a cruel mantra. _I'm too tired... I don't think I can cuddle right now._ The phrase echoed through my brain, a constant reminder of my husband's exhaustion, of his priorities. As the night wore on, Hange tried to coax me back to reality, his voice a gentle persuasion that eventually won out. I came back to myself, fragmented and broken, but alive. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Hange helped me onto the bed, his hands gentle as he undressed me and pulled the covers up to my chin. He lay down beside me, his body a warm, comforting presence that seemed to envelop me in its entirety. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, his voice a soft apology. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I had a really long day." I turned to him, my eyes searching his face. He looked tired, his eyes sunken, his skin pale. But as he met my gaze, I saw something there, a flicker of concern, of love. "You're always sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Hange's expression softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I am," he said, his voice a gentle affirmation. "I'm sorry for everything. For not being there enough, for not being present. For hurting you." I reached out, my hand brushing against his. It was a tentative touch, a fragile connection that seemed to bind us together. "Don't be sorry," I said, my voice a little stronger now. "Just be here." Hange's face relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close as we lay there in the darkness, two broken people clinging to each other like lifelines.