As the clock struck eight, Lucy felt the familiar weight of exhaustion settle heavily upon her shoulders. The evening routine had spiralled into an endless cycle of stalling tactics and gentle negotiations. Each night was a new chapter: “Mummy, I need a drink,” “Can I have one more story?” and the ever-dramatic, “I can’t find my teddy!”

With a sigh, she glanced at the clutter of toys strewn across the floor—evidence of the day’s battles and victories. She loved her little ones dearly, but the nightly ritual of coaxing them to bed had begun to feel like an Olympic event. As she tucked her youngest into bed for what felt like the hundredth time, she couldn’t help but wonder if sleep itself was an impossible dream, forever just out of reach. Would there ever be a night when they simply tumbled into slumber, like marionettes with their strings cut? The thought elicited a weary smile, a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.