You know that feeling when you're just absolutely FUMING but you can't make a sound, not a single PEEP, because the whole house is finally quiet and you might actually get two hours of sleep if you just – if you just hold it all in and stay perfectly still. That's where I am right now, watching her sleep, and I should feel some kind of warmth, some kind of peace, but all I feel is this burning RAGE, this seething anger that just sits in my chest like a hot coal. We moved out here because it was supposed to be better, right? Cheaper, slower, all the things people say when they want to escape the city, and everyone here knows everyone, knows your business, knows if your kid is screaming again at three in the morning and yes, he is, and yes, it’s my kid. We have no one, really, not close enough to just call and say "hey, can you take him for two hours so I don't lose my mind?" because everyone's got their own thing, their own farm or shop or kids of their own that are just as much of a handful, and it feels like we're just stuck in this endless loop of crying and exhaustion and resentment that just builds and builds until you feel like you're going to explode. I mean, she's sleeping, finally, and I’m glad for her, I really am, but part of me, the ugly, bitter part, wants to shake her awake and say "you get to sleep? YOU get to close your eyes?" because I can't. I just can't. My eyes are burning, my head is throbbing, and every muscle in my body aches, and I just keep seeing his face, all red and squalling, and I want to just… scream. Not at him, not at her, but just into the empty night, at the quiet house, at the endless fields outside that offer no escape, at the sheer, suffocating weight of it all. And then he’ll wake up again, and it’ll all start over.