Chapter 5 - The Night Shift
Nightfall arrived like a heavy, suffocating blanket over Derek’s world.
By 8:00 PM, Derek was physical and mental wreckage. He had missed his work deadline completely. His boss had sent him a scathing email demanding a formal meeting on Monday morning regarding his "unprofessional absence and lack of communication."
Derek hadn't showered. He was wearing a shirt stained with dried milk and formula. His stomach was growling violently because he hadn't had time to make a real meal—he had survived on two stale granola bars he found at the back of the pantry.
In the nursery, the real nightmare was just beginning.
Because Derek had missed their nap schedules throughout the day, both Eli and Owen were severely overtired. Their nervous systems were completely overwhelmed. When infants reach that state of exhaustion, they don't simply fall asleep; they fight sleep with every ounce of strength in their tiny bodies.
Derek had put them in their cribs at 7:30 PM, expecting them to drift off so he could finally sit down and order food.
Instead, at 8:15 PM, Eli began screaming.
Derek rushed in, picked Eli up, and began rocking him. But as soon as Eli settled slightly, Owen woke up from the noise and began shrieking.
Derek tried to hold both of them at once. He sat in the nursery rocking chair, one baby on each arm, trying to sway back and forth. But his arms were burning with fatigue. His lower back was throbbing.
"Shh... shh... please, boys, please go to sleep," Derek begged, tears actually streaming down his cheeks now. "Daddy is sorry. Please... just sleep."
Eli kicked his little legs, hitting Derek square in the ribs. Owen spit up a mouthful of warm milk right down the front of Derek’s jeans.
At 11:30 PM, Derek tried putting them down again. The moment their backs touched the mattress, both boys erupted into tears once more.
Derek collapsed onto the rug between the two cribs. He laid on his back, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars I had carefully stuck to the ceiling months before the boys were born.
He remembered the day we bought those stars. I had been seven months pregnant, my feet swollen, resting on the couch while he stood on a step stool stickying them up one by one. I had looked at him with so much love, saying, "You're going to be the most amazing dad, Derek."
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He looked at the stars now, listening to his sons cry, and realized with terrifying clarity how thoroughly he had failed. He hadn't been an amazing dad. He had been a provider who treated his family like a hotel where he slept and collected accolades while his wife did all the invisible, backbreaking labor.
He didn't sleep a single wink that night. Every forty-five minutes, one twin would wake up, requiring a bottle, a diaper change, or soothing. Derek paced the hallway from midnight until 6:00 AM, rocking one baby after the other, his body aching, his eyes burning with exhaustion.
