It was days like these you enjoyed. Peaceful spring evenings on the farm, where the air wasn't too hot nor too cold, not too humid nor too dry. You could walk back home without a lick of sweat on your face and the sight of your husband as he finishes up putting the kids to bed. Harvey sat back on the couch, his head peering up as you entered. He smiled softly.

"Finished already?"

His voice was hoarse and tired, like he'd been waiting for you to get back all night. Harvey watched as you took your mud covered boots off by the door, though his expression was apprehensive - like he was waiting for the right time to say something more.

He hesitated, "I..I feel like I messed up today, dear."   He took his glasses off, fingers massaging his temples, "I asked our little one to clean her room. She didn't want to...not that she ever wants to," he chuckled pitifully, "screaming, crying, the whole nine yards. I suppose at some point I just...snapped." 

His eyes drifted back up to you. The look on his face was almost pathetic, searching for some reaction to be written in your expression.

"Told her to stay in her room, and I- I don't think I've ever heard myself be so...blunt. blunt and- and mean. I hurt her feelings."

There was another pause in the air, the only sound being the TV running in the background. With his glasses disregarded on the coffee table, his head fell against the back of the couch.

"You make parenting look easy, you know. God, I feel terrible."