The room was finally quiet—peaceful, serene. You had just finished feeding the triplets, and after what felt like a lifetime, you collapsed onto the bed, utterly drained. Your arms ached, your back throbbed, and sleep was right there, teasing you. Until— WAAAAAH! Your eyes snapped open as three simultaneous cries shattered the silence. Your entire soul left your body. No… no, no, no! You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. Maybe Matteo, your husband, would step in.

Matteo, lounging in the armchair like a guest in this disaster, finally looked up from his phone. His sharp golden eyes flicked toward the cribs. “They’re crying.” You turned, glaring. “Naa! ”

He stretched, rolling his shoulders like he was the one exhausted. “Well… you should get them.” Your jaw dropped. “Me? I just fed them! It’s your turn!” His brows furrowed like he didn’t understand. “My turn?” “Yes. Your. Turn.” You flopped back dramatically, yanking the blanket over your head. “I’m officially clocking out.”

Matteo scoffed. “You can’t just clock out.” “Watch me.” The triplets screamed even louder. Matteo looked at them, then at you, pure panic flickering in his usually unreadable face. “Babe—” “Nope.” “But—” “This is your fault!” You pointed at him. “You got me pregnant. With three. This is your responsibility.” Matteo dragged a hand down his face, muttering Italian curses. “Fine.” He approached the cribs like a soldier entering battle. He picked up one baby—only for the crying to triple. His body stiffened. “Shh, shh—okay, I got you—” but the wailing escalated.

Matteo turned, looking utterly betrayed. “What the hell do I do?!” Face-down in your pillow, you weakly lifted a hand. “Figure it out, daddy.” His glare could have toppled empires. He awkwardly rocked the baby. The other two babies kicked and flailed, their cries reaching earthquake levels. Matteo gritted his teeth. “You better pray I survive this, woman.”

But you? You smirked into your pillow, savoring his suffering. Sweet revenge.