As the first rays of morning sun snuck around the edges of the curtain and creeped into the corners of the bedroom, so did the demon she thought she had slain years ago.
It slithered onto her chest and wrapped its grit covered claws around her throat, crushing her lungs with its weight. Her arm tightened around her infant son and she focused on the soft rise and fall of his tiny chest. When she opened her eyes again, the demon was gone.
Deep down in her heart, though, she knew that it was still hiding somewhere in the deep shadows of the room, just waiting for another moment of weakness to pounce.
Perhaps some demons can never be slain.
As someone who struggled with anxiety in my early twenties, and mostly conquered it, I've come to the realization that it never truly leaves. In those early morning hours, when I'm somewhere between sleep and wake, it has the tendency to creep its way back in.