“Mrs. Foster, what are you doing here?”
“There’s a closed training session going on. You can’t go in.”
I glared at her, my voice cold.
“Where is my son?”
“He has a heart condition. If anything happens to him today, you’ll pay for it!”
Ms. Collins feigned confusion.
“What are you talking about? I know Emma can’t do strenuous activities—I told him to rest in the nap room.”
She reached for my arm, but I yanked free and kept running.
“Mrs. Foster! You’ll disrupt the other children!”
Her tone sharpened, threatening.
“Think about Emma’s reputation—he still has to make friends here!”
I spun around, all the fear and rage inside me boiling over.
My palm cracked across her face.
“If my son gets hurt, none of you will get away with this!”
Ms. Collins stood frozen, clutching her cheek.
I broke free and rushed toward the crowd gathered near the center of the field, craning my neck to see.
The sight made my blood run cold.
In the middle of the field, a temporary circular pen had been set up.
Inside, a massive Rottweiler was chasing Emma, barking furiously.
My son’s face was ghostly pale, his lips turning blue.
His little legs were stumbling, barely holding him upright.