My three-year-old, Theo, has dropped library books into bathwater. He’s scribbled inside others with crayons. Yesterday, he ripped pages from our latest borrows.
The librarian’s upset. Again.
“They’re just books,” I say. “Supervising this kid isn’t easy.”
I won’t pay for damage done. Single mum income.
At home, Theo plays in the backyard. I mix myself a drink. Take my eyes off him for only a minute.
Enough time for my boy to be taken.
A note’s left behind, held firm by Theo’s bloodied shoe.
“I’ll return him… eventually,” writes the librarian. “Don’t expect him to be in pristine condition.”
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