Helplessness and Confusion
Emily stepped out of the church feeling sombre yet clinging to a sliver of hope. With tears in her eyes, shed begged God to bless her with a child. She and her husband, James, had been married for over a decade, but parenthood remained painfully out of reach. So, she took to praying, pleading with all her heart. Ten years of marriage, not a single pregnancy.
Shed cried rivers, consulted endless doctors, only to be met with the same frustrating refrain: “Youre perfectly healthythese things take time. It’ll happen when its meant to.”
“But how much longer, James?” shed sigh, searching his face. “A family isnt complete without a child.”
James shared her heartache. He longed for an heir, especially since his thriving business meant they lived comfortablywanting for nothing, except the pitter-patter of tiny feet.
“Em, maybe we should consider adoption? A little one to raise as our own,” hed suggest gently.
“No, James. I want to *have* our baby. Why wont the doctors just tell me whats wrong?”
Then, as if by divine mercyor sheer cosmic timingEmily fell pregnant. The joy was boundless, overwhelming. Though the pregnancy was rough, shed endure anything for their miracle child.
Little Oliver arrived fragile, prone to illness, but his parents doted on him day and night. They shielded him from every sniffle, kept him away from playgrounds, terrified other children might infect him. Emily walked him in quiet parks, far from boisterous toddlers.
No expense was sparedOliver had a tablet by four, an expensive phone for his first day of school. If he wanted it, he got it. But as he grew, so did his temper.
James was always at work; Emily stayed home, ferrying Oliver to and from school, cooking only his favourite meals. If she dared serve anything else, hed scowl: “Whats this rubbish? I wanted spaghetti, not this slop!” Then hed dump half the salt shaker into his bowl and demand his usual.
At thirteen, Oliver was a whirlwind of defiance. Emily fretted to James, who shrugged it off: “Love, its just teenage hormones. Hell outgrow it.”
One evening, James arrived home, beaming. “Ollie, got you the new phone!” Oliver snatched the box, disappeared into his roomonly to storm out moments later.
“Seriously? I told you which one I wanted! Only losers have *this* model. You *want* me to get laughed at?” He hurled the phone across the room and slammed the door.
James and Emily exchanged baffled glances.
“Told you,” Emily muttered. James had no reply.
Clothes, shoesnothing was bought without Olivers approval, unless they fancied a full-blown tantrum. Then came the call from his form teacher.
Emilys stomach dropped. *Whats he done now?*
“Mrs. Thompson, thank you for coming,” the teacher began. “We need to discuss Olivers behaviour. He insults staff, disrupts lessons, then smirks and threatens to report *us* for violating his rights. He loans his phone to classmates, then demands payment. Others do his homework under duress.”
Emily wished the floor would swallow her whole. Her cheeks burned.
“Please,” the teacher urged, “rein him in.”
She apologised, promised action. Walking home, she grappled with a terrifying thought: *Im scared Ill snap. Scared Ill slap him.*
*Where did we go wrong? We adored him, gave him everything. How did love breed this cruelty?* Olivertheir precious miraclewas now aggressive, disrespectful, unbearable.
They couldnt control *one* child. Meanwhile, their neighbours, the Wilsons, had four well-mannered kids who carried Emilys shopping without being asked. Once, shed asked Vera her secret.
“Its simpler with more,” Vera laughed. “My husbands from a big familysays kids keep each other in line. Honestly, they practically raise themselves.”
Emily listened, green with envy. Not once had she heard a harsh word from those children.
Oliver barged in after school, kicking off his designer trainers, flinging his backpack.
“Schools *crap*. Teachers are *crap*. Mum, I *told* you to keep my door shut! Stop snooping!”
Emily bit her tongue, still reeling from the teachers words. Olivers rage was relentlesseverything and everyone was his enemy.
She laid the table, but Oliver didnt come. She found him in his room, calmly shredding his leather jacket with scissors, smirking.
“Like it? Thats for tattling to my teacher. Oh, its *so* expensivewell, buy me a better one. Or Ill trash that too.”
He slit the fabric slowly, taunting her. Something in Emily snapped. She slapped him.
Oliver staggered, clutching his cheek. Instantly, she regretted itreached to hug him. But his glare froze her blood.
“*Oh*, youll regret that.” He snatched his phone. “Police? My mum just *hit* me. Yeah, *her*. Send someone *now*.”
The officer who arrived looked baffled. The tidy home, Emilys exhausted face, Olivers sneernone of it added up.
“Bit of a family tiff, eh? Sort it out yourselves.”
“No!” Oliver shrieked. “I *know* my rights! If you leave, Ill report *you* for neglect!”
The officer blinked. Emily sighed. “Take him. Maybe thisll change something.”
Two days later, social services arrived. They took one look at Olivers smirk, Emilys pallor, and nodded. “Pack a bag, Oliver. Youre coming with us.”
“*Where?*”
“Temporary care. Since youre abused here, we *have* to act.”
Oliver paled. As the door closed, Emily sank into a chair.
“James I never dreamed wed *lose* him. But its our only hope.”
Next day, Oliver called, whimpering. “Mum, get me *out*! The foods *disgusting*they took my stuff”
“We cant. Were barred for two weeks.” She hung up.
They signed papers, the social worker sighing: “Seen this before. Spoilt kids, no boundaries. Frankly, Id have cracked too.”
When James finally fetched Oliver, he barely recognised the quiet, subdued boy.
“Dad are you taking me home *for good?*”
“Thats up to you.”
“Please.”
Oliver stepped inside, exhaling. “Homes amazing. Mum, DadIm *sorry*. I was awful. I *get* it now.”
Emily smiled. “Dinners ready, love. Come eat.”
