The snoring was killing me.

Absolutely killing me.

I rolled to my side, plunked my pillow over my head, and . . . it did absolutely nothing to muffle the sound of chainsaws erupting from my husband’s nose and mouth.

“Rob,” I said and poked him. “Roll over.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he turned to the other side and promptly fell right back asleep. The snoring stopped, but the breathing didn’t.

The heavy and very loud breathing.

I blew out a sigh and stared at the darkened ceiling. I don’t know why I bothered. It was the same thing every time. He snored; I woke up. He stopped and went back to sleep. I stayed awake.

It was mom brain. The moment I was even partially awake, my mind raced and I started listing all of the things I needed to do for the next day.

I forgot to pack a snack for Max tomorrow.

Allie needs to wear orange, not the purple shirt I’d set out for her.

Rocco needs to go to the vet for his last set of shots.

A new blog post had to be created, new recipes tested, photos taken. All while the kids were in school. And to complicate things, Allie was in kindergarten, which was only half a day, so I got to add two trips—there and back—to school because neither of their pickup or drop off schedules aligned. So my four free hours were really only three, and now we had a dog who needed to be walked as well.

I closed my eyes, my chest tightening, my respirations shallow.

I’d spent so much of the last few months feeling overwhelmed. And for a girl like me—a tightly strung perfectionist who struggled to cut loose—that was almost the kiss of death.

Unstrapped from a roller coaster that raced along the tracks, barely hanging on by my fingertips.

My eyes flashed open. There was no way I was going back to sleep now.

Carefully, I slid from beneath the comforter and slipped from the bed. Rocco wagged his tail in his crate, a little rap that had me shushing him as I navigated the shadows. I closed the bathroom door behind me. Only then did I flip on the light.

Which wasn’t kind. Thank you, fluorescents.

The woman I saw in the mirror wasn’t quite a stranger, but she didn’t look like me.

Not exactly anyway.

She was older. Plainer. Grayer.

Gross.

Look. I got it, I know we’re all supposed to be kind to ourselves, to love our wrinkles and gray hairs, but dammit, four o’clock allowed for some self-pity.

Okay?

I released a sigh. Not okay.

The problem with being a perfectionist is that it carried over to all parts of my life. My skin didn’t glow enough, my stomach wasn’t as flat as it had once been, my ass wasn’t high and tight, my thighs jiggled—

And now that was enough self-hate for this time of day.

I glared at my pale brown eyes in the mirror, warning the inner haters to shut it before splashing water on my face and pulling a brush through my hair. I scrubbed my teeth, slapped on some deodorant, and then made my way into the closet.

My favorite stretchy skinny jeans were fresh out of the wash, and I wrestled my way into them, pairing the dark denim with a blue floral blouse and a stack of necklaces.

I snagged a pair of flats but wouldn’t put them on until I was well away from the Sleeping Beauties. A swipe of mascara and a quick application of blush were the final touches I added before I turned off the bathroom light and waited for my eyes to readjust to the dark.

Rob was back to snoring when I crept through the bedroom. I shook my head and closed the door behind me, heading for the top of the stairs.

That was when I heard the first noise.

A moan. The rustling of bedclothes. I dropped my shoes and bolted for Allie’s bedroom.

She began crying.

“Mom!”

I skirted the mess of toys on the floor, picking my way across with all the finesse of an American Ninja Warrior.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked.

“I don’t—”

I was already reaching for her when she exploded.

Okay, not exploded exactly. More like Poltergeist-vomited, all over me. It dripped down my hair, soaked into my blouse, my jeans, the carpet, and bedding.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Allie began crying in earnest, and I soothed her as I swept her into my arms. We made it to the bathroom in record time.

I set her down in front of the toilet, holding her hair back when she gagged again and again. “I’m sorry, honey,” I said when she stopped. Then I wet a towel and wiped her face and neck. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

She was shaking, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“Shh. Not your fault.” I wrapped her in a towel and cuddled her close until she stopped shivering. “Let’s get you a quick bath, and then I’ll set you up on the couch, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Fifteen minutes later she was in clean pajamas, wrapped in blankets, and tucked into the couch, a bucket within arm’s reach.

I went back upstairs to strip the sheets and clean the carpet. Then I carried all of the dirty linens back down to the laundry room and tossed them in the washer. By now the vomit had mostly dried on my clothes and hair, and I was in desperate need of a shower.

Time would tell if this was the stomach bug plague or if Allie had just eaten something that didn’t agree with her.

Would one fall? Or would they all?

I snorted quietly as I slipped back into the bedroom, only to be bowled over by Rocco, wagging tail and wriggly butt. Rob must have let him out. He sniffed the carpet, did a one-eighty.

Uh-oh, potty time.

“Come on,” I said, opening the door.

He pushed past me and sprinted down the stairs. I hustled after him, not wanting him to wake up Allie, who’d finally fallen back asleep.

But I needn’t have worried. He bypassed the living room completely and went straight to the back door. “Good boy,” I told him and opened it just wide enough for him to slip out. The icy morning breeze shot through the gap, having the dual effect of kicking up the smell of puke on my person and cutting directly through my still-damp clothes.

I shivered. “Hurry up, dog.”

Rocco took a few more minutes. It was too cold to leave him outside, young as he was. Of course, he was the one with the thick fur.

Finally, he was done and sprinted for the opening into the house.

Or rather, crashed into the door, since those brakes were still under training.

“Come on, goofy,” I told him as I snagged his collar and corralled him past the sleeping Allie on the sofa.

I’d already lost count of the trips up and down the stairs and it wasn’t even six yet. Who said my butt wasn’t high and tight? At this rate, I’d be a Kardashian in no time. Rocco wriggled his way alongside me, not fighting when I stuck him back in his kennel. Though that was probably because I promised him breakfast after I’d showered.

The bathroom light shone through the crack in the bottom of the door, and the bed was empty.

That plus the absence of chainsaw sounds told me Rob was in the bathroom.

Who was the detective now? I thought with a smirk.

I crossed to the bathroom and opened the door.

Or tried to.

It was locked.

I frowned.

Tried again.

“Rob?” I knocked, tilted my head when I heard . . . was he talking to someone? “Rob?” I asked louder.

The sounds inside the bathroom cut off. After a pause, he called, “Miss?”

“The door is locked.”

Another pause. Then footsteps. The locked clicked before the door swung open. Rob was wrapped in a towel, his chest bare and glittering with drops of water. Normally, I’d have been distracted by those little beads of liquid. Today I barely noticed because there was a mark on his neck.

A suspicious bruise on the base of his throat—

Where someone might have kissed him.

And that someone had not been me.

Rob smiled, but it looked strained. “Sorry, hon. Force of habit.” He turned and walked into the closet, closing the door behind him.

I was still on the threshold, blinking after him, when the door popped back open and he stuck his head out. “You look cute, by the way.”

Before I could stammer out a thanks, the door shut again.

Had he not noticed the puke? Or was he trying to be nice because it looked like I’d been put through the wringer?

Or perhaps most important of all, had I imagined the mark?