The Wrong Child
"Noah, get out and go inside. I’ll pick you up tonight. Remember, nothing that happens today gets back to your mom."
My four-year-old son, Noah, clutching his little backpack, glanced timidly at the dark, dingy entrance. "Dad, I don’t want to go here. It smells bad… and the food isn’t good…"
"What’s with all the whining? I’ve spoiled you rotten! Get out, now!" Scott snapped.
Noah flinched, his small body trembling, tears pooling in his eyes. In the end, he could only push the door open and walk into that broken-down yard alone.
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