Chapter 1

Six years into our marriage, my husband developed severe insomnia.

He spent entire nights in the therapy room relying on hypnosis to fall asleep.

I felt bad for him, but on his birthday, I accidentally saw a message he sent to his hypnotherapist.

"In today's dream, I want to marry her."

Afterwards, he shamelessly expressed his love.

"I think about her so much I've developed insomnia. Only by being hypnotized into dreams with her can I fall asleep."

And that "her" was his first love.

It turns out, during his sleepless nights, every dream he wove was about her.

If that's the case, I'll make his beautiful dream come true completely.

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1

I stared blankly, about to scroll through the chat history when a comment notification suddenly popped up at the top of the screen:

[So why don't you try to get back together with her?]

My finger hovered over the screen as I finally tapped to open that comment after a long moment.

It turns out he had answered a question on social media.

-- On how powerful pure love can be.

Levi replied below:

[Powerful enough that thinking of her has given me severe insomnia. I can only fall asleep under hypnosis, dreaming of her.]

Scrolling down, his hypnosis records immediately came into view.

Or rather, the dreams he wove for himself.

In the first hypnosis session, he and she were deeply in love, never having separated.

In the second hypnosis session, he made up for the regrets of their past, embracing passionately under the Northern Lights.

In the third hypnosis session, he relived their shy first night together.

...

And yesterday, on his birthday, he didn't come home all night, only returning today in a drunken stupor.

As it turns out, he had been in a psychotherapy room.

Hypnotized into a dream where he married his first love, the one he couldn't stop thinking about.

I stared numbly at my phone screen.As the tears began to fall, Levi suddenly grabbed my wrist from the couch, his voice choked with emotion:

"Celeste, I miss you so much..."

A sharp pain surged through me, threatening to consume my entire being.

Suddenly, my mind flashed to the perpetually locked room on the second floor of our house.

I stumbled upstairs, smashing the lock to force my way into that room.

One glance was all it took for all the strength to leave my body.

The room was filled wall-to-wall with portraits of Celeste.

Smiling, crying, dancing...

And in every single image, regardless of her pose, there stood a man behind her, his gaze fixed intently upon her.

With trembling hands, I reached out to touch the paintings.

Each brushstroke was meticulously crafted with the utmost care.

It was evident how gentle and attentive the artist had been.

My heart felt as if it were being violently squeezed and torn apart by an enormous hand, leaving me struggling to breathe.

I collapsed to the floor, completely drained.

My clouded mind seemed to finally find a moment of clarity.

In the next instant, I heard someone stumbling up the stairs and bursting into the room.

He froze for a moment upon seeing me, then angrily shouted:

"Cassandra, who gave you permission to enter this room? Have you no manners?!"