After sending the message, I wiped away the tears that had started to well up in my eyes. Trying to distract myself, I turned up the gas flame and focused on the sound of the water heating up. But despite my efforts to stay composed, memories of our son, his screaming echoing through the house as he crawled around in agony, flooded my mind. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed by grief and panic I felt in that moment.
Just as I was lost in these thoughts, the ringing of the phone snapped me back to reality. After texting back and forth, my husband finally called.
“Have you calmed down? Weren't you so angry at him that you wanted to kill him?” Dale said accusingly.
His blame was understandable. Just two days ago, our son was complaining about an itchy scar on his calf. At first, I thought he had scratched himself accidentally, but as time went on, it became clear that our dog was the cause. He had bitten Liam and it had been a few days. Confused and worried, I asked him why he hadn't told me sooner. My son said his dad wouldn't let him tell me because he was afraid I would get angry. I was so angry at that moment that I kicked at the dog.