The soft hum of the coffee maker blends with the sharp whine of Mateo’s cries, a constant reminder of how little I’ve been able to do lately. My fingers tremble as I grip the mug, the warm porcelain a small comfort as I watch the morning light pour in through the kitchen window. It casts long, golden streaks across the worn tiles, illuminating the empty spaces I can’t seem to fill. Across the street, the neighbors’ cars sputter to life one by one, engines revving in steady succession as the world moves outside, unaffected by the chaos inside my home. I close my eyes, trying to swallow the knot in my throat, but it tightens further as Mateo’s sobs grow louder, desperate.