I never intended to be a voyeur, and if the baby hadn’t been colicky, I wouldn’t have been. But now… now I don’t know what to think.

After all, who expects to be a voyeur at two a.m. in the sleepy suburbs? Honestly? That night, all I’d been thinking about was when I could get back to bed. When I was thinking at all. My son’s colic was in full sway and life had been reduced to scream after scream after scream. I bounced him. I walked him. I stroked his back and rubbed his belly. I wore a track in the rug walking around and around and around. All I wanted was for him to fall asleep, so I could too.

Of course, I could have woken my wife, if his screams hadn’t already done so. I suspected they had, and that she was intentionally turning a deaf ear, her head buried in her pillow. I didn’t blame Karen—the two months since William’s birth had been particularly hard on her. He’d been a lazy eater, turning his middle-of-the-night nursings into mini-marathons. At least I could sleep then. Which is why she insisted I take colic duty, even if it had turned into a marathon all its own.

But as my older sister reminded me, “this too shall pass.” My nephew had also been colicky, but he’d survived and was now the energetic terror of his preschool. When I’d complained… well, whined, really, she’d just smiled and told me that the colic wouldn’t last forever and that even little babies would eventually sleep. And she was right, because that night sometime after 1:30, William’s sobs turned to sniffles and then snores.

I was too disbelieving to quite trust it, so I continued to hold him and walk slowly through the darkened house. My nerves were too fried anyway, and the quiet night soothed them and gave me a chance to regain my sanity.

I was passing through the kitchen when I heard the laughter. That gave me pause. Since our modern suburb consisted of large houses on small plots of land, it wasn’t unusual to hear the neighbors out in their yard. The distance to the fence was just tens of feet, after all. But it was unusual to hear anyone out so late. With small kids at just about every address, parties that lasted into the night were more memories than current fact. Except occasionally at Rod and Kim’s.

I nodded, knowing that had to be it. Our back fence neighbors had installed a hot tub last fall and they’d had a few parties with their friends since. Not that they’d invited us, mind you, but we weren’t particularly bothered. Rod and Kim were young and childless and ran in different circles. We really didn’t have that much in common besides a fence and the sparse shade of a few elms. So we’d settled into that easy routine of chitchatting about trivialities when we were both outside and waving when we passed on the street. They didn’t complain about the way I let the weeds go and I didn’t begrudge them the occasional party.

Except that night… well that night, I kinda did. But it wasn’t the noise, for there wasn’t any, really. It was the envy. William had been born in late January and it had been a long, long journey to spring.

I tried to tell myself that it was silly to be jealous of Rod and Kim. I’d chosen my life and it was a good one, even with the colic. I had a great job and a great wife and a nice home in a good neighborhood. What was there to really be jealous of?

Except I knew. When a thump signaled the hot tub cover hitting the ground, I knew what I was so envious of—those simple nights of carefree life. I wanted to laugh and drink and soak in a hot tub with friends.

Instead, I carried my son upstairs to his room and lowered him gently into his crib.

I’d just straightened up when I heard another giggle. Drifting to the window, I pushed the curtain aside and looked down on Rod and Kim’s yard. At least I could daydream.

It turned out I could do more than that. Since the spring foliage was just starting to arrive, the bare trees didn’t obscure my view of their deck. Nor the two people standing there, kissing.

At least that’s what I thought they were doing. There wasn’t quite enough light spilling from the house behind them to be sure. Just two bodies, standing oh so close in the shadows.

I leaned against the window sill, smiling at the memory of nights like that with Karen, before William arrived. Exhaustion had a way of sapping the passion, but I hadn’t forgotten it.