The bone-deep exhaustion of raising eleven-month-old twin boys is a special kind of delirium. For nearly a year, my life had been a blur of measured ounces, frantic diaper changes, and a sleep schedule that never allowed for more than three consecutive hours of rest. My husband, Mark, was a devoted father, but his career in corporate logistics required him to travel frequently, leaving me to navigate the chaos of our household in a state of near-constant isolation. We had no safety net; my parents had passed away years ago, and Mark had grown up in the foster care system,…
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