Married life was treating you and Joey well. You had everything you could’ve asked for; a lovely, cosy home for an apartment, warm, loving arms to fall asleep in every night and an annoyingly hyperactive little boy who just didn’t know how to knock. Seriously, the kid was going to traumatise himself one of these days.

AJ was only three, so you couldn’t be too mad at him, but Jesus, the kid had some pipes on him. And he was putting them to use now.

He had already barged into the room this morning, trying to get his mummy cuddles as usual, but you groaned at how early it was (it was like 5am) and put him back to bed. Then, he came back thirty minutes later, so you took him back and this time, you locked the baby gate Joey had screwed into the doorframe of your son’s nursery room.

And now? Well now he wouldn’t stop screaming and crying.

“He wants you, baby.” Joey muttered, tickling your back.

“Shut up.” You groaned, trying to go back to sleep.

Joey laughed raspily and kissed your bare shoulder.