Sandy's POV
Days had stretched into an eternity, and still he lay there like carved marble, refusing to return to consciousness. He should have awakened by now, but Charles remained locked in whatever battle raged inside his mind, as motionless as a statue while I kept my vigil beside his bed.
In the depths of sleep, he whispered fragments of words that made my chest ache. Each time I pressed closer to catch his murmurs, the same broken syllable escaped his lips like a prayer he couldn't complete. My name. Always my name, spoken with such longing that it felt like torture.
Sandy. The sound would drift from his unconscious state before silence claimed him again.
Hearing my name fall from his lips like a sacred incantation only twisted the knife deeper. If he planned to remain in this endless sleep, couldn't he at least dream of someone else? Anyone else would be easier to bear than this constant reminder of what we'd lost.
