"Does it get better?" She asked in a soft tone. Her worried eyes were on the outline of his form on the bed.
Nicolàs took in a breath and sat up. "I'm sorry," he whispered in the darkness. "I'm sorry I woke you up, go on back to bed. I'll be fine."
Annalise reached out a hand and grabbed him, pulling him down. She held his head to her chest.
"You do not have to apologize to me about this, Nicolás. It doesn't bother my sleep, I'm worried about how it bothers yours."
"I'm used to it." He said quietly.
She felt her heart clench. Her father was responsible for this, responsible for the suffering Nicoás had to continue to endure even after so many years, the memory was ingrained in his brain and would forever haunt him as it still did, following him to his nightmares.
"Have you…" she faltered, afraid of his reaction to her suggestion. "Have you considered therapy?"
