When the Story Continues (Sequel to When the Script Changes)

Chapter 3: The Longest Night

The thing no one tells you about parenthood is that sleep is no longer something you just do—it's something you chase, something you long for, something that teases you with false hope before cruelly slipping through your fingers.

And tonight? Tonight was one of those nights.

It started off normal enough. Dinner was a casual affair—takeout, because neither Freen nor Becky had the energy to cook after a long day of baby duty. The dogs had been fed and were now curled up on the couch, content. Mon had been bathed, dressed in the softest pajamas, and rocked to sleep.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was still.

"You think we'll get more than four hours tonight?" Becky asked as she climbed into bed, sighing as her body melted into the mattress.

Freen snorted as she flicked off the bedside lamp. "I'll take three."

They shared a look, both knowing that no matter how many hours they managed, it would never feel like enough. But at least they were in this together.

Becky shifted closer, resting her head against Freen's shoulder. "Love you."

Freen pressed a soft kiss to Becky's hair. "Love you more."

And just as their exhaustion finally began to pull them under—

A cry shattered the silence.

A loud, ear-piercing, unmistakably distressed wail.

Becky groaned into her pillow. "No. No, no, no."

Freen was already scrambling out of bed, tripping over her own feet as she rushed to the nursery. "I got her, babe."

Becky sighed, listening as Freen's soft shushing sounds filled the baby monitor. But Mon? Mon wasn't having it.

The crying only grew louder.

After five minutes of rocking, humming, and whispered reassurances, Freen trudged back into their room, holding Mon against her chest.

"She's wide awake," Freen reported grimly.

Becky sat up, rubbing her face. "What happened? Nightmare?"

Freen shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe she just wants to party."

Mon hiccupped between sobs, her tiny fists clenching Freen's shirt like she was personally offended by the idea of sleep.

Becky held out her arms. "Let me try."

Freen handed her over, watching as Becky swayed gently, murmuring soft words against Mon's forehead.

"Shhh, sweet girl. It's okay. Mama's here."

The crying slowed slightly, but Mon was still restless, her little body shifting uncomfortably.

Becky frowned. "Maybe gas?"

Freen's eyes widened in horror. "No. Please, not gas."

Gas was the worst.

Not because it was messy—well, sometimes it was—but because it was the most unpredictable, unrelenting enemy they had faced as parents.

"Okay," Becky said, adjusting Mon against her shoulder. "We need to do bicycle legs."

Freen groaned. "That never works."

But they had no choice.

They laid Mon down on the bed, both of them hovering over her as Becky gently moved her little legs in a bicycle motion.

Freen whispered dramatic encouragements. "Come on, baby girl, let it out. Defeat the gas monster."

Becky gave her a look. "Do you hear yourself?"

But then—

A tiny, barely audible fart.

Freen gasped. "Oh my God. Did you hear that?"

Becky grinned. "Sweet relief."

Mon, however, was still wide awake.

And worse? She smiled.

"Oh no," Freen breathed. "She thinks this is playtime."

Becky groaned, flopping backward. "We are so screwed."

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An hour passed.

Then another.

Mon refused to sleep.

They had tried everything—more rocking, more lullabies, even driving around the block in the car (which had worked before, but not tonight). At one point, they had resorted to playing white noise through Becky's phone while Freen danced around the living room with Mon strapped to her chest.

The dogs, sensing the chaos, had followed them room to room, their tails wagging as if they were the ones being entertained.

Finally, at 3:47 AM, after what felt like an eternity, Mon's blinks grew slower. Her tiny body softened against Freen's chest, her breaths deep and even.

Becky, sitting cross-legged on the floor, let out a breath of relief. "If I move, she'll wake up."

Freen froze. "I swear, if she does, I might cry."

Carefully, painstakingly, Becky stood, motioning for Freen to follow. They tiptoed—tiptoed—back into the nursery, where Becky ever so gently placed Mon into her crib.

A beat of silence.

Then another.

Then—

Stillness.

They held their breath, waiting.

Mon sighed in her sleep but didn't stir.

Freen grabbed Becky's wrist, dragging her out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible.

Once they reached the bedroom, they collapsed onto the bed, lying flat on their backs, staring at the ceiling in exhausted triumph.

"We did it," Freen mumbled.

Becky groaned. "I feel like I just ran a marathon."

Freen turned her head, looking at her wife. "Why do I feel like she's going to wake up in exactly thirty minutes?"

Becky snorted. "Because she probably will."

Freen let out a dramatic whimper. "I miss sleep."

Becky laughed, rolling onto her side to face her. "We'll sleep again in like... eighteen years."

Freen sighed. "That long?"

Becky grinned. "Maybe sixteen, if we're lucky."

Freen turned to her, eyes filled with playful exhaustion. "Worth it?"

Becky didn't even hesitate. She reached out, threading her fingers through Freen's. "Every second."

Freen smiled sleepily. "Yeah. Same."

And as they finally drifted off—bodies aching, eyes heavy, hearts full—they knew that no matter how long the nights got, they wouldn't trade them for anything.

Not even for sleep.