The Price of Favoritism

Overtime work meant leaving my five-year-old son, Leo, at my parents’ place for the day. When I went to pick him up, I almost fainted on the spot.

Leo’s bottom was swollen, his jeans soaked through with blood. He could barely stand. The moment he saw me, he burst into tears and burrowed into my arms.

Trembling with rage, I called my mom to find out what happened.

Her sharp voice pierced through the phone. “What’s wrong with me disciplining your child? He spent two dollars on a carousel ride, and then wanted another one! He’s only five and already so greedy. Of course I hit him!”