The first month of parenthood was brutal.
There was no soft way to say it. No poetic framing that could make it feel lighter or more manageable. It was relentless in a way nothing else in their lives had ever been—more exhausting than building a company from nothing, more overwhelming than navigating a high-stakes marriage that had once started as strategy instead of love.
Elena was a terrible sleeper.
She woke every two hours like clockwork, her cries sharp and urgent, the kind that sliced straight through bone-deep exhaustion and demanded immediate attention. Not fussing. Not gentle stirring.
Full-volume, end-of-the-world screaming.
Sienna swore sometimes it sounded like their child believed she'd been personally betrayed by existence.
They took turns.
Or at least, they tried to.
