Elijah Langley never expected life to feel like this.
The emptiness.
The pressure to stay afloat.
The kind of exhaustion that sinks into your bones.
He's fading quietly, privately.
And lately, letting go feels like the only breath of relief he might...
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March 1st, 2025 Calabasas, CA 9:51 P.M.
The next week folded itself back into routine — early alarms before sunrise, cold mornings, sleepy day care drop-offs, long workdays, rushed dinners and bath battles before bedtime prayers.
Everything was back to normal after San Diego.
Except it wasn't.
Grace had grown clingier; more affectionate....more emotional.
Elijah felt it, he felt himself growing quieter, heavier. As if his thoughts were stuck somewhere behind his ribs, pressing hard against them making a simple inhale harder to achieve.
Tonight was the worst of it.
Their home was dim, lit only by the warm lamp beside the couch.
The clock on the stereo system reads 9:52 P.M.
Grace should've been in bed and asleep hours ago. Instead, she was curled up against him, tiny and warm with her cheek pressing on his arm.
They had been like this for the last twenty minutes, staring at the illuminated screen while giggles spilled from Grace's tiny body.
Elijah sits up straight, eyelids heavy but refusing to close. He feared that if he allowed them to he'd collapse right then and there.
He had a long workday, fighting with numbers and employees only to clock out and rush to pick up Grace who wasn't having the best day either from daycare.
She somehow managed to get slime in her hair and he had to wash it yet again — a whole ordeal that left her overstimulated and clinging to him.
This was the first quiet moment since they got home, but the quiet didn't feel peaceful in the slightest.
"Daddy." Grace whispers, lifting her head.
Her voice was soft, so sleepy, it almost broke him.
"Can I have a hug?" Elijah shuts his eyes for a second and breathes. He loved her. God, he loved her so much.
But he honestly felt wrung out, emotionally scraped raw since their drive back from San Diego. He took his mother's advice and applied it to his day to day life, but after day three her words became meaningless.
"Not right now, Grace." He says, voice was gentle, but noticably distant. "Daddy is tired."
Grace removes her head from his arm and blinks at him. Her lashes were clumped from crying earlier; sensory overload always did that. Glitter from the slime still sparkled faintly in her eyebrows — no matter how many times he tried to wash it out which was a total of three.
"But...hugs always make you feel better." she mumbles and reaches for him, small arms opening. "Mommy says so."
He stiffens at the mention of her mother. The landmine he kept stepping on for a total of forty days now. The mention of her left him stuck in his spot with his heart tightening every time he inhaled, he was in pain.
