There is a version of me that used to stand in a dark hallway at 2 am, listening to his child cry, and feel nothing but rage. Not at the child. At everything. At the day that had already taken everything I had. At the job that left me empty. At the fact that I…

I am writing this at 4 am. Not because I am a morning person. Because it is the only hour that belongs to me. By the time my house wakes up, I will already be someone else. The employee. The father. The man who absorbs what the day throws at him and keeps moving. But…