“Maybe he just needs to cool off a little.”
For half a second, I didn’t understand what he meant.
Then his hand moved.
Before I could react, he grabbed a small bottle of milk off the shelf, opened it, and poured it straight over my son’s head.
Everything seemed to stop.
I stood there completely speechless, milk dripping off Mason’s face as he wailed even harder.
It ran through his hair.
It soaked the shoulders of his little shirt.
Drops landed on the cart and splattered onto the floor.
Mason squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.
My shopping list slipped from my hand.
“Mason!”
I grabbed the bottle away and shoved it onto the nearest shelf.
My hands shook as I unbuckled him.
“It’s okay. Mommy’s here.”
But my voice didn’t sound convincing.
I pulled him against my chest and wiped milk from his eyes with my sleeve.
He buried his face against me, crying so hard that his tiny body trembled.
