Helplessness and Confusion
Emily stepped out of the church feeling sombre but with a sliver of hope. Tears had stained her cheeks as she begged God to bless her with a child. She and her husband, James, had been married for over a decade, yet pregnancy had eluded her. Desperate, she had started attending church regularly, praying fervently. Ten years of marriage, and not a single positive test.
She had wept endlessly, consulted countless doctors, only to hear the same refrain: “You’re perfectly healthythese things take time. It just isnt the right moment yet.”
“How much longer, James? Tell me,” she pleaded, gazing at her husband. “A family isnt complete without a child.”
James was just as heartbroken. He longed for an heir, especially since his thriving business meant they lived comfortably, wanting for nothingexcept a child.
“Em, maybe we should consider adoption,” James suggested gently. “A little one we could raise as our own.”
“No,” Emily shook her head. “I want to carry my own baby. Why else would the doctors say Im fine?”
Perhaps God took pity on Emily, or perhaps the time had simply comebut she finally fell pregnant. The joy was overwhelming. Though the pregnancy was difficult, she endured it gladly for the sake of their long-awaited child.
Oliver was born frail, prone to illness, but his parents doted on him, hovering day and night. As he grew, they shielded him from everythingeven other children, terrified he might catch something. Emily took him on walks far from playgrounds.
No expense was sparedby age four, he had an iPad, and by his first day of school, the latest smartphone. Whatever Oliver wanted, he got. But as the years passed, his temper worsened.
James was always at work; Emily stayed home, ferrying Oliver to and from school, cooking only what he demanded. If she dared serve anything else, hed snap, “What is this rubbish? I dont want beef stew!” before dumping an entire salt shaker into the bowl.
At thirteen, Oliver was unbearable. Emily confided in James, who brushed it off: “Hes just a teenager, love. Its a phase.”
One evening, James walked in with a gift. “Oliver, I got you the new phone!”
A minute later, Olivers furious voice rang out: “This isnt the one I wanted! Only losers have this model. You want the kids to laugh at me?” He hurled the phone across the room and slammed the door.
James and Emily exchanged baffled glances.
“I told you,” Emily muttered. James had no reply.
The same drama unfolded with clothes and shoesnow, they never bought anything without his approval. Then, Olivers teacher called.
Emily knew it wasnt a social visit.
“Mrs. Thompson, thank you for coming,” the teacher began. “We need to discuss Olivers behaviour. He insults staff, disrupts lessons, and when reprimanded, smirks about knowing his rightsthreatening to report us. He lends his phone to classmates, then demands payment. He forces others to do his homework.”
Emily wished the floor would swallow her. Face burning, she stammered an apology and promised to address it.
Walking home, she fought the urge to slap Oliver. Where had she gone wrong? They adored himhow had their love bred such cruelty?
Meanwhile, across the street, the Wilsons had four childrenalways polite, never a raised voice. Their eldest even helped Emily carry groceries.
“How do you manage?” Emily once asked Mrs. Wilson.
“My husband grew up in a big family,” she replied. “More kids mean more harmony. They help each other. Honestly, its easier.”
Emily envied hernot once had she heard a harsh word from those children.
Oliver stormed in after school, kicking off his designer trainers. “I hate school! And Mum, I told you to keep my door shut!”
Emily stayed silent, still reeling from the teachers words.
Later, she called him for lunchno answer. She pushed open his bedroom door to find him slowly slicing his expensive leather jacket with scissors, smirking.
“Like it? This is what you get for going to school. Since you think this jackets so pricey, buy me a better oneor Ill do it again.”
Something in Emily snapped. She slapped him across the face. Instantly, regret flooded herbut Olivers glare froze her blood.
“Fine. Lets see how you like this.” He dialled 999. “Police? My mum just hit me. Hurry.”
The officer arrived, baffled. “I think Ive got the wrong address?”
“No,” Oliver said smugly. “She assaulted me. Punish her.”
The officer, used to drunken parents and neglected kids, frowned. “Son, family rows happen. Sort it out yourselves.”
“I know my rights!” Oliver shrieked. “If you leave, Ill report you too!”
“Take him,” Emily said wearily. “Maybe this will change something.”
Oliver returned days later, chastened.
“Dad are you taking me home for good?”
“If thats what you want.”
“I do.”
Stepping inside, Oliver exhaled. “Homes so nice Mum, Dad, Im sorry. I was awful. I provoked you.”
Emily smiled. “Welcome back, love. Dinners ready.”
