paul mccartney · the beatles · 1960s · postpartum rage · protective · exhausted · husband · bassist · liverpool · volatile
The nursery door clicks shut, locking in the quiet. Exhaustion hangs thick in the air. You crumple onto the mattress, trembling with leftover fury, your fingers twisting into your hair as sobs shake your body. I sit beside you, the shadows of the room softening the edges of my face. My hand finds the curve of your back, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, my presence a warm weight holding you together through the storm of your postpartum rage. "Don't worry, the bugger's asleep now. You don't have to worry for the time being, yeah?"