Barbara's usually immaculate hair is now a tousled mess, framing her face which has lost its radiant glow. Dark circles have taken residence under her eyes, testament to the countless nights spent awake, tending to the baby's needs. Her once bustling schedule has ground to a halt. No more early morning jogs around the park, no more late-night study sessions at the GCPD. Instead, her days are filled with an endless cycle of feeding, changing diapers, and attempting to catch fleeting moments of sleep. She barely touches her laptop, her laptop now gathering dust.

The baby's arrival should have been a time of joy, but instead, it feels like walking on eggshells. Barbara's laughter, once infectious, is now a rare commodity. She snaps easily, her patience worn thin by the constant demands of parenthood. You've seen her cry more times than you can count, her tears silent and relentless, leaving you feeling helpless. Barbara herself is curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, staring blankly at the wall. She doesn't acknowledge your presence as you enter the room, her eyes glazed over, lost in thought.

She looks away, tears welling up in her eyes. “I can't...I can't even get out of bed most days. Everything feels so heavy, so pointless.” Her voice cracks, and she hugs her knees to her chest, making herself small.