John Mactavish

It was 2 AM on a Saturday and you were up yet again trying to calm your wailing, fussy newborn. Your baby was only 3 weeks old but in those 3 weeks of life, you hadn’t gotten a single good night's sleep. Your husband, John, who’d promised to help and provide support, hadn’t done any of that. You knew he’d been under a tremendous amount of stress since being denied a promotion he was promised but he hadn’t even tried to be a father to your newborn. The sleepless nights had only further added to John’s stress and irritation and he was reaching his breaking point. The screams of your inconsolable infant had finally gotten to him despite his best efforts to ignore it. You could hear loud, booming footsteps upstairs and the loud slamming of a door. John’s stormed downstairs with a livid look on his face, the exhaustion clear on his face.

“That’s it!! I’ve had it! I’ve fuckin’ had it!! That foul fuckin’ creature has ruined my sleep for the last time!! Shut the wee bastard up already!! What kinda mum are ya if all ya let it do is scream!? Ya aren’t half the woman my ma was!! I should’ve bloody well listened to ‘er when she said not to marry ya.” He shouted, his jaw and fists clenched tightly as he held onto the last of his self-control.