**Helplessness and Confusion**
Emily stepped out of the church with a heavy heart, yet a flicker of hope still burned within her. Tears had streaked her cheeks as she begged the Lord for a child. Over ten years of marriage to James, and still no pregnancy. She had turned to prayer, pleading, desperate. Ten yearslong enough to drown in silence and unanswered questions.
How many doctors had she visited? How many times had she been told, *”You’re perfectly healthythese things take time. Just wait.”*
*”But how much longer, James?”* shed whispered, searching his face. *”A family isnt whole without a child.”*
James, too, ached for an heir. His thriving business provided comfortluxury evenyet their home felt hollow.
*”Em, maybe we should adopt,”* he offered gently.
*”No,”* she shook her head. *”I want to carry my own. Why wont it happen?”*
Thenmercifullyit did. Joy, overwhelming and fierce, flooded their lives. Though the pregnancy was difficult, Emily endured it gladly for the sake of the child shed longed for.
Little Oliver arrived fragile, often ill, coddled by parents who hovered day and night. As he grew, they shielded himfrom colds, from germs, even from other children. Emily walked him far from playgrounds, terrified of contagion.
No expense was spared. By four, he had a tablet. By seven, the latest smartphone. If he wanted it, he got it. But with each passing year, his temper darkened.
James was always at work; Emily, always homefetching Oliver from school, cooking his meals *just so*. If she dared serve anything else
*”What is this rubbish? I wont eat it!”* Hed dump salt into his bowl. *”I want my soup!”*
At thirteen, Oliver was unbearable. Emily tried to warn James, but he dismissed it: *”Just a phase, love. Hell grow out of it.”*
One evening, James returned with a gift. *”Son, I got you the new phone.”*
Oliver snatched the boxthen moments later, hurled it down the hall. *”This is trash! I told you which one I wanted! Im not some charity case!”* The door slammed.
James and Emily exchanged stunned glances.
*”I *told* you,”* she murmured. He had no reply.
It was the same with clothes, shoesnothing was bought without Olivers approval, lest he erupt. Then came the call from his teacher.
*”Mrs. Hartley, we need to talk about Oliver.”*
Her stomach dropped.
The teachers words were a blade. *”He insults staff, disrupts lessons, claims to know his rights. He lends out his phone, then demands payment. Forces others to do his work.”*
Humiliation burned her cheeks.
*”Please,”* the teacher urged. *”Rein him in.”*
She promised, apologizedthen walked home, fists clenched. Fear coiled inside her. Fear that one day, shed snap.
*Where did we go wrong?* Theyd loved him, given him everything. How had kindness bred cruelty?
Their neighboursthe Wilsonshad four children. Never a shout, never chaos. The older boys even carried Emilys groceries.
*”How do you manage?”* shed once asked Vera.
*”Oh, its natural. My husband grew up in a big family. More children, more harmony.”*
Emily envied that peace.
Oliver stormed in that afternoon, kicking off his designer trainers. *”Schools *crap*. And *you*”* he jabbed a finger at Emily, *”stay out of my room!”*
She said nothing. The teachers warnings echoed in her skull.
Dinner sat untouched. She pushed his door openand froze.
Oliver stood, scissors in hand, methodically shredding his leather jacket. He smirked. *”Like it? Since you *love* running to schoolbuy me a better one. Or Ill do it again.”*
The slap came before she could stop herself.
Oliver recoiledthen his face twisted. He grabbed his phone.
*”Police? My mother just hit me. Yes, *hit me*.”*
The officer who arrived looked baffled. Neat home. Well-dressed boy. *”Just a spat, Im sure”*
*”No,”* Oliver sneered. *”I want her *charged*.”*
Exasperated, the officer turned to leaveuntil Oliver threatened to report *him* for neglect.
Emily exhaled. *”Take him.”*
Two days later, child services arrived.
*”Get your things, Oliver. Youre coming with us.”*
*”Where?”* Panic flickered.
*”Care home. Since youre being abused.”*
He protestedbut left, pale-faced.
Alone, Emily sank into a chair. *”James I never thought”*
*”Its for the best,”* he murmured.
Oliver called the next day, voice small. *”Mum, come get me. The foods *disgusting*they took my stuff”*
*”We cant,”* she said. *”Not for two weeks.”*
She hung up.
The social worker had been kind. *”Seen this before. Spoilt rotten. You did right.”*
When James finally fetched him, Oliver was *different*. Quiet. Contrite.
*”Dad am I staying?”*
*”Do you want to?”*
*”Yes.”*
At home, Oliver exhaled. *”Its good to be back.”* His voice cracked. *”Mum Dad Im sorry. I was *awful*.”*
Emily smiled faintly. *”Dinners ready.”*
