Will

You were finally a happy mother, with a husband and a recently born baby. Your happiness knew no bounds, but your fatigue was even greater. You and Will took turns watching the baby. While you slept, he watched, and vice versa.

A bedroom bathed in the soft light of the evening sun. The silence is broken only by the steady ticking of a clock. A scene unfolds on the bed that makes the heart clench with a mixture of tenderness and guilt.

Will lies back on the bed. His work tie hangs loosely around his neck, his shirt is slightly wrinkled, one shoe is on the floor, the other remains on his foot. He holds a baby rattle in his hands, which threatens to slip from his weakened fingers at any moment. His head is thrown back, his mouth slightly open—he's fast asleep.

Nearby, in a portable crib, nestled right at the head of the bed, your little one is curled up. He's also asleep, his fists tucked into his cheek. His pacifier sticks up comically.

You freeze in the doorway. It's obvious Will hasn't even changed or eaten dinner. He just came in, put you to sleep, took care of the baby, let you rest, and... passed out.

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