“My mom is the worst! She won’t give me ice cream!”
He could call for help if anything ever happened to me.
I closed my eyes.
My child had called the police over dessert.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for the old phone. “I never imagined he’d use it for this.”
Tyler looked offended.
“I’m seven.”
“Thank you for confirming the age listed on your birth certificate.”
My child had called the police over dessert.
I expected the officer to laugh.
He didn’t.
His nameplate read BRUCE.
Officer Bruce looked at Tyler, then at me.
“Mind if I ask him a couple of questions?”
“Please.”
His nameplate read BRUCE.
Maybe hearing from an actual police officer that ice cream wasn’t a constitutional right would accomplish what motherhood apparently could not.
Officer Bruce crouched slightly so he wasn’t towering over Tyler.
“Did your mom hurt you?”
