Back then, I believed my husband, Tyler, and I were solid.
We’d been married for four years when we finally welcomed our twin girls.
Then we were overwhelmed by sleepless nights, baby bottles, and tiny socks everywhere. I thought the chaos meant we were building something strong.
I’m 31 and used to think I was happy.
I remember standing in the nursery at 2 a.m., one baby crying in the bassinet while the other hiccupped against my shoulder, telling myself this was what love looked like.
I believed that having a messy, loud life was worth it.
But somewhere in those early months, while I was home on maternity leave with the babies, Tyler started pulling away.
I believed that having a messy, loud life was worth it.
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