One night, I raced out of the shower to find my 3-year-old kid crying and smeared in red paint, with my wife sitting nearby, addicted to her iPad. Frustrated and perplexed, I quickly discovered a more serious issue: my wife’s quiet struggle, which threatened to tear our family apart.
It was a normal evening. My wife sat in the recliner, scrolling through her iPad, as she regularly did.
I thought the kids were in bed.
I thought it was the ideal moment for a long, relaxing shower.
I heard a faint cry as I stood in the hot water. At first, I dismissed it, believing it was nothing significant.
But suddenly the cry out became louder and more frantic.
“Daddy! Daddy!” my 3-year-old son’s voice pierced through the sound of running water.
I hurriedly turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and exited.
As I walked through the family room, I noticed my wife.
She was still sitting there, transfixed to her iPad and entirely unaware of the chaos in the other room.
“You couldn’t calm him down?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
She didn’t even look up. “I tried three times,” she said, sounding bored.
Three times? I shook my head, irritated, and rushed into my son’s room.
I was ready to console him, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
As soon as I came inside, I noticed him sitting up in his bed, his little body quivering as he sobbed.
“Daddy, I made a mess,” he exclaimed between gasps.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I said softly, assuming it was just tears and snot. “We’ll clean it up.”
I got closer and picked him up.
He grabbed to me hard while still crying. His face was buried in my shoulder, and I could feel moisture dripping down my neck.
“Poor guy’s been crying so long,” I thought.
But then something seemed wrong. His pajamas were excessively soaked.
I placed him back down and took out my phone to turn on the flashlight. That was when I noticed it: red everywhere.
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