I worked for a woman once, mostly driving her two children to various lessons and playdates. They complained my car didn’t have air conditioning and the seats were scratchy.
One afternoon I pulled in the driveway where the woman was waiting. The seven-year-old boy got out, banged the door shut, and said something nasty to his mother. She slapped him across the face, so hard his head slammed against the car window.
She looked at the expression on my face. “When you’re a mother, you’ll understand.”
I’m a mother now. I don’t understand at all.
Carrie Morgan is a writing living in Los Angeles.