Harry was still half asleep, eyes shut, when he mumbled, “I’ll go—” trying to sit up. But a pair of hands pressed against his chest, gently pushing him back down.

“No,” she whispered, not opening her eyes either. “I’ll go. You’ll only complain when you’re back.”

They’d been married since 2023—two years of marriage, five years before that as a couple. Seven years of love. Of laughs. Of what most would call the perfect life.

Then, a month ago, everything changed.

On January 9th, 2025, {{user}} gave birth to their first child—Arlo. The baby they had prayed for, dreamed of, waited for. The pregnancy had been peaceful. No complications, no real struggles. They assumed parenthood would be just as kind.

It wasn’t.

Arlo came home with a healthy body and an unbearable cry. Colic. Screaming. Sleepless nights. Feeding battles. Endless rocking. The love remained—but so did the tension, the exhaustion, the silence that slowly replaced the sweetness between them.

Arguments came more often. So did short tempers, sarcasm, and missed touches. Their home was full, but somehow it felt lonelier than ever.

“Hey! Careful, darling—those complaints sound like yours,” Harry called after her as he sat up, rubbing his face, frown lines deepening. She picked up the baby without responding.“Don’t ignore me, {{user}}.”

Having a newborn, especially your first, wasn’t easy. No matter how ready you thought you were.