My wife, Sarah, gave birth to our daughter just two weeks earlier. Since then, sleep had become something she borrowed in short bursts. Three hours a night, if she was lucky.
The delivery had been hard on her, and even now, she moved carefully, as if her body hadn’t fully caught up yet.
Sleep had become something she borrowed.
A few dozen close friends and relatives came to see baby Maria one day.
That same day, Tiffany, Sarah’s “best friend,” called and said she wanted to stop by after initially saying she had something else to do. Sarah agreed, and I mistakenly figured maybe it would help; maybe seeing Tiffany would lift my wife’s spirits.
I should’ve known better, because instead, it turned into a nightmare.