I’m at the playground right? Big fake smile plastered on, chasing Leo around the sandbox while trying to look like I’m *so* invested in Brenda’s story about her pilates instructor’s gluten intolerance. “Oh, really?” I chirp, like I actually care. And all the while, my phone in my pocket is buzzing with reminders. Not for playdates. For overdue bills. Electric. Gas. Water. Everything. Like a ticking time bomb, except it’s not ticking, it’s just… sitting there. Silent. Until it isn’t. It’s stupid, right? I should just… deal with it. But I’m supposed to be the guy who has it all together. Mr. Stay-at-Home-Dad Extraordinaire. I bake the sourdough. I organize the craft projects. I know the names of all the obscure dinosaurs. And yet, here I am, secretly panicking about whether we’re going to have hot water next week. It’s not a big deal, I know, people go through worse. But the weight of it, the absolute absurdity of pretending everything is fine while my insides are doing a frantic tango… it’s getting heavy. And the worst part is the *silence*. My wife, she works so hard. She's the breadwinner. She doesn't need this extra stress. I keep telling myself I'll figure it out, just one more good idea, one more side hustle that actually, you know, *works*. But the ideas are drying up and so is my bank account. Every time I see her coming home, tired but still smiling, I just want to… scream? Cry? Or maybe just disappear into thin air. Because what if she knew? What if she saw the actual train wreck I’ve become? We humans, we’re all just… actors, aren't we? Performing our roles. The happy parent, the successful professional, the zen yogi. We put on these faces for each other, for ourselves even, until we forget what the real one looks like. I caught my reflection in the car window on the way home today, and for a second, I didn't recognize the guy staring back. This tired, anxious stranger with a lingering, almost manic grin. It's like the playground smile got stuck. And now I’m here, typing this out at 2 am, the house quiet, the bills still unpaid, and wondering if anyone ever truly stops performing. Or if we just get better at the act.